Summer in the Gynarchic Empire

Summer in the Gynarchic Empire

Part 1 – Arrival

I was seated next to Arabella on the aircraft, but I had noticed the male flight attendants only addressed her, and they did so as “Miss”, always respectful. They wore steel collars and tight black PVC shorts, along with cuffs on their ankles and wrists, and they were the first real slaves I’d ever seen in the flesh. Each looked healthy, fit, and happy, and seeing them made me feel better about my decision to visit the Gynarchic Empire with my friend Arabella for the summer.

About an hour from our destination, an announcement came over the tannoy of the aircraft. “Ladies, we have passed into the jurisdiction of the Empire. Please ensure all males are wearing an activated control device, and are dressed for family areas, as the airport is an all-ages space. Thank you.”

“OK, Gregory,” said Arabella to me, “that means you need to take off everything except your shorts and hand them to me, then I need to collar you. Oh, it’s exciting! Are you excited?”

“I am! Yep! Uh-huh!”

“Oh, Greg, scared too aren’t you? Don’t worry, it’ll be a great adventure for both of us. I can’t wait to get you home, you know? Really get you settled in. Of course, we’ll have to go through immigration first.”

Arabella had me stand up in the aisle and go down to just the shorts, then she had me kneel and clipped the collar around my neck. It buzzed when it closed around my neck, letting me know its sensors and shockers were active. I stood up but she pushed me back down to the floor and had me kneel there a minute or two, waiting for her command. It was lucky, in a way, that the high-tech shorts she’d given me to wear suppressed erections, because right in that moment she looked hot as hell.

Arabella was a slim redhead with a freckled face and piercing blue eyes. She had pale lips, a button nose and soft features, and she wore her wavy hair long. She wore a white summer dress that fell to mid-thigh, and brown leather boots, and she had small firm breasts that the dress fell around loosely.

We had slept together a few times back home, always with me subbing, but she refused to call me her boyfriend. I had met her at university, and we had both just finished our final years together, and were looking for what to do next. She knew of my interest in the female-dominated culture of the Gynarchic Empire, and had suggested I join her for the summer on a slave-visa to see what life was like in that huge equatorial country.

When we touched down, she held my hand and led me off the aircraft and through into the gleaming airport. We arrived in a maze of corridors that led to a long, well-lit waiting area where people stood in lines going through passport control. To the side were little shops staffed by male slaves, selling food, water, medicine, little knick-knacks, alongside chains, whips and floggers.

Everything was clean, shiny and modern, and I saw lots of smiling faces among the men and women who had just got home. We didn’t collect any luggage – she told me a drone would ferry it for us – and we went straight for the immigration line and joined it. While we waited, I had a chance to look around and get my bearings.

There were lots of male staff, all collared and wearing PVC shorts. Some had shorts with the logo of the travel company that ran the airport, and they were busy serving the needs of the travelers that passed through the place. They did everything with real smiles, smiles that went right to their eyes. Others wore shorts with different logos, or plain shorts, patterned shorts, all kinds of designs. I didn’t have much time to look at them before we got to the front of the line. The woman at the desk wore a guard’s uniform, and she took my passport and Arabella’s, then addressed her.

“New slave?”

“Yep, a three-month visa. It’s all there.”

“Sure, looks good to me. OK, please take him through to processing. Good luck, slaveboy, enjoy your visit.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I replied, and Arabella patted my bottom, by which she meant ‘well done’.

A door in one wall led us through to ‘processing’. The first area was a locker room, where we were met by several clothed female guards and several stocky, naked male slaves. A sign indicated that this was a non-family area, and that males should be nude and silent. There were a few other new arrivals there, including a boy – who must have been just recently eighteen – and his middle-aged mother.

“But mom,” he said, “I don’t want to do this visit anymore. I want to go home.”

“You can’t go home, honey, you’ve already entered the country, so you’re committed now. Look, we’ve visited your aunt and cousins lots of times before, it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but, well, I didn’t realise it’d be different now I was an adult.”

“You’re not acting like an adult.”

“I don’t want to go naked.”

“You have to.”

“I’m not ready.”

“Can someone help?”

“Sure thing,” said a waiting guard. “Boys, strip and cuff him.”

Two of the stocky male slaves, one black and one white, moved in on the 18-year-old boy and grabbed him. One went behind the boy, got him in a bear hug, and lifted him off the ground, while the other went in front and yanked the boy’s shorts off. He kicked a bit but the slave blocked the feeble attacks and grabbed the boy’s balls and squeezed.

He shrieked, then the fight went out of him and he became pliant and looked at the slave with real fear in his eyes. The slave let go of the boy’s balls, then cuffed his hands and legs and added a leash to the boy’s collar, which was handed to his mother. She led him off like that, him shuffling behind to keep up.

I looked at Arabella and she gestured at my shorts. I took a breath and pulled them down, then I put them in a locker and she used her thumbprint to seal the lock shut. One of the female guards handed Arabella cuffs, and she used them to lock my hands behind my back. I opened my mouth to protest – I was there willingly after all – then I remembered myself. Slaves didn’t protest when they were bound. That done, Arabella went into her bag and got out a long chain leash, which she attached to my collar. I felt an electric shiver run across my skin when she leashed me, an energy that passed between us. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at my naked body.

“Come, slave Gregory, follow me. Oh, you don’t know how good it feels to address you properly. I know the Nations are a great place to get an education, but I’ve missed living somewhere with a proper culture. You’re going to find our relationship changes now, but trust me, it’s for the better. I’ll still care about you, and for you, just in a different way. In fact, I bet you’ll never want to leave!”

“Yes, Mistress,” I responded carefully.

We were taken through into a medical examination room, where a male attendant and a female doctor checked me over. I stood stock still as they worked, always aware of the guards milling around and the collar around my neck. I knew the collar could deliver a hard electric shock, and that in that place any disobedience on my part would not invite careful explanation or negotiation.

It was thrilling to stand there and be handled like a slave. They did some normal tests first, drawing blood and taking a saliva sample, then they scanned my whole body with a laser device that measured me. The male attendant grasped my cock and used the scanner to measure it, then my balls, and these measurements became part of my file. He read them out as he went.

“New slave, height 188, chest 106, waist 81, weight 70, balls classification medium, cock length 11, circumcised, un-depilated except for penis and testicles, classification small-medium, the slave has blue eyes, short brown hair, no visible scars, no visible piercings, and has full use of hands and feet. Slave build is light, requiring basic restraints only, which are already attached in the form of a smart-collar.”

“Sexual health?” asked the doctor, taking over.

“He’s been fully checked, he’s clean goods,” said Arabella.

“Scans clean, goddess,” said the male.

“Prior training?” said the doctor.

“Minimal. None, really,” replied Arabella.

“Psychological health?”

“No issues I’m aware of,” said Arabella.

“Stress levels appear fine, goddess,” said the male.

“OK. Scans are clear, blood checks out. Import is approved. Do you want him stamped?”

“Yes, please. On the belly would be best.”

“Sure. Now, slave, hold still.”

The doctor picked up a strange device, a small block with a handle, that she dictated some letters and numbers to. It morphed and the block took the shape of the letters, and then she approached me with it. When she pressed it into my belly, I felt a sharp stinging sensation, then wetness, then heat, and I had to breathe deeply to keep from pulling away.

I felt it touch my skin, and some chemical reaction took place there that made the letters take hold. The stamp left behind a short alpha-numeric code, 2XB49, then below it my first-name and Arabella’s last name, so it read “Gregory J—-” and not “Gregory E—–” like I’d expected. I had taken her name, but I tried not to read anything into that.

“Most men have their stamp on their bottom, Gregory, but I thought you might like to have yours really properly displayed for your stay with us. You should listen out for “2XB49,” as people will use that as your name as well as the more standard wording beneath it. Come, let’s go through to the legal department,” said Arabella.

She strode ahead, leading me through the corridors on the leash, while my cock swung free and bare. The legal department was a series of small offices staffed by female clerks and stocky male slaves, there to keep an eye on the new arrivals in case of freak-outs. Arabella – my Mistress – and the clerk sat down and I stood. They talked over the terms of my slave-visa and discussed what my Mistress might want to use me for, then the clerk checked everything over and handed the male attendant a tablet.

He held it up to my eyeline, but the clerk was the one who spoke to me. “Read it all out, slave, then you will officially be allowed entry on your 3-month slave visa. If you do not consent, you may now indicate so, and you will then be assessed to ascertain if you were compos mentis when you entered the country. If so, you will still be enslaved, as you knew both a male’s place in this society and what entering it meant. Read now, boy.”

I drew a deep breath and began. “I, slave 2XB49, also known as Gregory J—-, do hereby consent to become legally and properly a slave for a period of three months beginning on today’s date. I consent to becoming the legal property of Arabella J—-, licence number LK34AJ8912, and acknowledge her absolute authority subject to the limitations of my visa. I confirm I have read and understood the terms of my visa.

“I confirm I maintain the right to life and to avoid permanent injury, including permanent modification. I confirm I waive the right to clothing, the right to self-determination, the right to speech, and the right to control my own body. I confirm I waive the right to consent to any sexual activity as listed in the visa, with any gender. I confirm I waive all right to privacy.

“I confirm I am of sound mind and have carefully considered the implications of this oath. I consent to becoming a slave. I consent to becoming a slave. I consent to becoming a slave.”

“Good boy,” said the clerk. “Well, Arabella, he’s all yours. Have fun you two.”

“Thanks hon!” said Arabella. “OK, slaveboy, let’s get you home.”

************

I thought about the three months that lay ahead of me while we rode the monorail through the city towards the residential district where Arabella’s family lived. The city largely passed me by – it looked the same as the one I’d lived in before, a mix of high-rise and high-tech with traditional and heritage buildings. Parks, squares, houses, shops – just a normal place.

“Slave? Were you listening?”

“Hmmm? Oh, erm, no, sorry Mistress,” I replied.

“Well, I’ll let it go this time. When we get to my family’s house, my sister, mother and father will be there waiting for us. Quite possibly my sister’s ‘friend’ too, if he hasn’t annoyed her too much this week. Poor boy. But anyway, my mother will expect you to enter crawling and kiss her feet, and you should do the same to my sister. Not to my father: he’s a slave like you, but if any other women are there kiss their feet too, yes?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Good boy. She’ll probably – my mother I mean – insist on feeding you, so go along with that. My sister will probably test your limits, she likes to torment boys, but essentially do what she tells you unless I counter-order. She knows what’s in your visa and she won’t go over your limits.”

“Of course, Mistress,” I replied.

“Mother will expect you to be naked in the house at all times, to speak only when spoken to, and she’ll probably spank you after she spanks father. I know you’ve been spanked by me and others before, but this will be different – she’ll really mean it.”

“OK, Mistress,” I said.

We reached the house on foot a few minutes later – it was late in the day and the sun had set, so we made our way by the warm glow of the streetlights. The house was very attractive, brick-built with a small front garden. It was three storeys and had plenty of room, but the only part that looked out of place was the porch.

To keep a divide between inside-private space and outside-public space, all the houses had a completely private porch with frosted glass. Arabella led me into the little space, then she pointed at my shorts and clicked her fingers. With trembling hands I pulled the shorts down and handed them to her, then I dropped to my knees and waited for Arabella to make the next move.

She rapped on the door, then used her thumbprint to unlock it and entered. We entered into a carpeted hallway lined with family photographs. Doors opened onto different rooms of the house, and from the sitting room came the family. In front was Arabella’s mother, a woman in her mid-fifties who looked just like her daughter: slim, redheaded and blue-eyed, wearing a blue dress. After her came her husband, quite naked, also in his mid-fifties with a medium build and a shaved head. His short, thick cock was caged, and he followed his owner-wife on a leash.

Behind them came Arabella’s sister Letitia, who was a short, curvy nineteen year old girl with wavy brown hair that looked like her sister’s (except the colour). She wore jean shorts and a pink strappy top, and she held the leash of a boy of the same age. He crawled after her, clearly her pet – he wore a pink PVC-looking bodysuit with black spots, and he had a tail and mitts. His cock was uncaged, long and hard, and he looked sheepish when he saw me.

Arabella’s mother – her name was Francine – stopped in front of me and I kissed her feet as soon as I was able to crawl forward to where she was. I kissed them slowly, several times each, then I moved to Letitia and did the same to her. She giggled and wiggled her toes, but she let me kiss her feet several times and didn’t pull away.

“Hello!” cried Arabella. They all hugged and kissed while I remained kneeling, not really knowing what to do. I figured I shouldn’t stand – I hadn’t been ordered to. As predicted, Francine had made food, and she led us through into the kitchen where she had laid things out on the table. Arabella sat down. I stayed kneeling.

“Where will he have his?” asked Francine.

“At the table, I think. No sense rushing him.”

“Shame,” said her sister, “he looks like he’d make a great pet, eating on the floor.”

“Easy tiger,” said Arabella with a laugh. “Anyway, I see you have someone I used to know as a pet already.”

“Oh! Yes! This is Plum – I think you knew him as David – but he’s not mine. I’m just helping train him for the experience, I don’t actually own him. His mother sold him to a slave school and of course they found out straight away all about his pup-tendencies. Didn’t they boy?”

He yipped.

“Hi Plum,” said Arabella, “who’s a good puppy? You do seem very pleased to see me.”

“Oh, that? I’ve not let him cum in a week, he’s a very horny boy. But he has to earn his orgasms, yes?” He yipped again. “Good boy!”

We ate and Arabella caught up with her family, who all sat round the table with us. I was asked a few questions – what I wanted from my three months with them, what experience I had, what I was expecting, what degree I’d done. Mostly I was just there as Arabella’s slave. It was relaxing, to have so few expectations, to just be able to listen.

“So, Arabella, what are your plans for your gorgeous new slaveboy?” asked her sister after they’d finished catching up.

“Sex-slave, companion, servant: the usual really. He’s pretty green so we’re not doing anything out of the ordinary. Well, not to start with anyway. Why? You like him?”

“He’s cute.”

“Uh-huh. I think someone has a crush on my new piece of property.”

“Like I said, he’s cute. There’s no harm in looking.”

“Well, feel free to keep on… looking. For now.”

We spent the evening with her family, in the sitting room, watching the screen and playing some games together. I got used to the feeling of being naked around them all – it helped that the father and the petmale were both quite naked too. A few times I saw Letitia looking at me and caught her eye. I was expecting her to look away, but instead she just grinned and winked.

That night I got my first taste of what sex as power really meant in that place. Arabella strapped me to a padded bench in the basement, with my face down and my bottom up in the air. While her mother and sister watched, she took me hard with her strapon until she screamed out a blistering orgasm and then lay down over my back to catch her breath.

Once she had withdrawn, she took out a cane and swished it through the air in front of me. I saw the look on her face – concerned but determined – and knew I was about to taste some real pain from her. I nodded, ever so slightly, and her expression relaxed a little. She walked behind me and I waited.

“OK, slave, here’s how it’s going to go. You’ve behaved well and have no trouble obeying female authority, but as your owner, it’s my responsibility to make sure that you feel correctly humble and submissive at all times. That means you need to know discipline.I will give you ten strokes of the cane, then mother will, then Letitia will. Count each stroke and thank us for them.”

“One, thank you Mistress!” I sang out the first time someone hit me.

“Two, thank you Mistress, three, thank you, Mistress…”

I kept going until I reached ten, then I heard them switching over.

“You will address me simply as “ma’am”,” said Arabella’s mother.

“One, thank you ma’am!” I cried out.

She hit especially hard and I felt my eyes start to water with the pain. I kept up the rhythm of thank-yous and when we hit ten she professed herself satisfied with my performance. She moved in front of me and kissed my cheek, then she stroked my hair and said “Good slave”. I nodded an acknowledgement and she smiled at me.

“You will address me as “Miss Letitia”,” said Arabella’s sister

Before I had time to answer, she hit my bare backside with the cane and I had to say “One, thank you Miss Letitia,” to her.

“Two, thank you Miss Letitia.”

“I’ll do far worse if you ever disobey.”

“Three, thank you, Miss Letitia.”

“I am the biggest believer in discipline out of the three of us.”

“Four, thank you, Miss Letitia.”

“Slave bottoms look best red and stripey.”

“Five, thank you Miss Letitia.”

She had nothing more to say to me before she finished, and I counted out her tenth stroke with enormous relief. She had hit me astonishingly hard, and when Letitia and her mother went back upstairs, Arabella applied some soothing ointment to my skin and rubbed it in. She let me down from the bench, and we went upstairs to bed.

Part 2 – The Beach

The next morning, Arabella ate breakfast while she sat on my face in bed. She thrust herself down into my tongue and her warm, wet pussy almost covered my airways completely. I was in heaven, sucking in breath that tasted of her and giving her all the pleasure she desired. She took her orgasm then stayed in position while I cleaned her off.

We showered together, massaging and kissing each other. I was made to clean her from top to bottom, sparing no effort, then she did the same thing to me. It felt different when she did it, like she was polishing me up to put me on display, but I liked the way she turned me this way and that, had me spread for her, and so on.

After our shower she threw me a pair of black satin shorts to wear, then gave me a pair of sandals to go with them. We packed a few towels and some changes of clothes – for her – then we left the house and walked to the monorail. That whisked us to a beach about twenty miles from her home, where we got off.

To get to the particular beach we were going to, we had to pass through a series of walls that obscured the view from outside. Halfway through, I felt my collar buzz and Arabella nodded. She led the way until we got to the other side of the winding corridor that led between the fences.

We emerged onto the beach itself – it was a huge expanse of sand and sea, running for at least a mile, and I could see why it had to be physically separated from the family-friendly areas. Everywhere there were naked male slaves and female owners, playing together, laying together, making love, playing volleyball, swimming, kissing and taking pleasure.

“Get naked,” said Arabella.

“Erm. Oh, er, yes, Mistress,” I replied..

I looked around first to see if anyone was paying attention to us – to me – and that was a mistake. Mistress tutted and shook her head. She strode up to me and yanked down my shorts, then ripped off my sandals and put them in her bag. When she stood up again, she looked me in the eye and then laughed.

“My bad, slave, my bad. I’m used to males who’ve been properly conditioned for immediate obedience. I forget you’re not from here, you see. You need to get in a properly submissive frame of mind for me now, so drop to your hands and knees and crawl after me. My friends are waiting for us halfway along the beach, so that should be a good amount of time for you to get in the spirit of things.”

“Yes, Mistress!”

We only travelled a few hundred metres, but it taught me something about being a slave all the same. I looked up at Arabella and watched her small bottom bounce in the white bikini bottoms she wore. Her red hair swayed in the breeze coming off the sea. Sunlight seemed to dance in the strands of her hair, and she captivated me with her radiance.

The crawl gave me some time to look around the beach. Everywhere naked male slaves served female owners. Many slaves ran and sported with their owners, who came in all shapes, sizes and skin tones. There was no less variety in the slaves, who ranged from stick thin to portly and rotund. Here and there were some pet or pony-slaves, but the beach was dominated by everyday humans on two feet.

“Hi girls!” squealed Arabella when we finally reached her friends.

Seven of her friends waited there for her: two black girls in red bikinis, a white girl wearing a blue one-piece swimsuit, and three asian girls who wore a mix of polka dots and nothing at all. Arabella hugged each of them in turn, and they all squealed and yelled to see her: clearly it had been too long since their last get together.

“Are you going to let us inspect the goods?” asked Miri, an asian girl who wore a polka dot bikini.

“Go right ahead. Gregory, stand up, legs apart, hands on head, and let my friends see what I own.”

Their own slaves – one each for each girl – stayed behind and Arabella’s friends all crowded around me. They felt every inch of my body. I flinched the first few times they got to my penis and my bottom, but Arabella’s answering smile let me know that was OK. I breathed in and out, relaxed into it, and just let it happen.

I found I liked being inspected. I stood there knowing I was being objectified, valued, assessed for worth as a slave. I was sure a few of them would already have a fair idea of my monetary worth, and that got me a little hard. Arabella couldn’t actually sell me, though I realised I had no idea if she could in fact rent me out. I’d never thought to ask until that moment.

“Cute. Permanent property?” asked Miri.

“No, he’s just trying it out.”

“Mmmmm hmmm, I’ve heard that before. If he ever ends up for sale, let me know,” said Miri.

“Hands off!” giggled Arabella.

We spent the day sunbathing, swimming, playing volleyball and having a lazy time. Arabella had me fetch her everything she wanted that wasn’t in the bag: I went on many trips to buy drinks, food, and sundries. She ordered me to walk with my hands at my side and let everyone see me, to expose myself and never cover up.

The sun beat down on my bare skin and I felt at peace with the world, there on the beach with my mistress. She went down to just her bikini bottoms for most of the day, but unlike her friends she never went fully nude, nor did she take any sexual pleasure from her slave. I watched open-mouthed as her friends fucked their slaves, used their boys’ tongues, and even as they spitroasted one lucky male with strapons.

Arabella never made me cum either. She had me massage her all over, several times, I think to tease as much as to relax. She obviously wanted me hard and horny, wanted everyone to see me that way, and wanted me to stay that way as long as possible. My owner forbade me from touching myself sexually and I complied, always conscious that she could punish me with significant force. I was powerless to resist her words.

I think it was the sight of her bottom in those white bikini briefs that I liked the most. Her tight butt stood out against the wet fabric, and I fancied I could see through the cloth just a little way. My eyes flitted back to it, again and again, until I was practically salivating with lust. She noticed and laughed, then did nothing to stop me from tormenting myself.

So the day passed into the evening. Arabella told her friends all about the jobs she was applying for and the things she wanted to do with her life. A few times she mentioned me, but only in passing, to discuss places she could take me and things she could show me. She wanted me to see the world she was part of, but she spoke mostly of her own desires. I was an accessory, not the centre of her life, I realised.

When we got home, the sex was explosive. She threw off her clothes, chained me to the bed face up, and rode my face and cock while the bed bounced and shook. I moaned and groaned, she grunted and yelled. Arabella let me cum quite some time later, spurting off in her hand while she sat on my face and ground her hips down into me.

Later on, after we had eaten, showered, and got into bed, she talked me through my performance that day.

“You were a solid B minus today, slaveboy. You learned to expose yourself well but you couldn’t quite contain your lust. A few times when you were giving me massages, I felt you rub your cock against my bikini briefs. Don’t think I didn’t notice. That’s a demerit – ten strokes of the cane at the end of the week.

“Otherwise, you were a solid piece of male property. You spoke when spoken to, obeyed orders fairly promptly, and even if you didn’t impress my friends, you didn’t embarrass me. That’ll have to do for the first time out, you know. Now, slave, go to sleep and think about how to do better for me next time. Goodnight, Gregory.”

“Goodnight, Mistress Arabella.”

Part 3 – Orgy

A few days passed in similar style. We spent a lot of time at the beach, and we toured the houses of Arabella’s friends. Everywhere we went, I played second fiddle to Arabella. She led, I followed. She spoke at length, I spoke occasionally. In fact, I almost always spoke when spoken to, I never initiated conversation.

I might even have been a little bit bored if it weren’t for my fascination with the way Arabella did everything. She moved with real grace, she smiled with calmness and certainty in her eyes, and she spoke firmly and without hesitation. She was so naturally dominant that it came through in everything she did, from the way she pointed me where to walk, to the way she ordered my food.

I did not think I was in love with her, but I had developed great affection for her. She fucked me every day, sometimes with her strapon, sometimes using my cock. Always it was her fucking me, never the other way around. She took what she wanted and gave me what I wanted, or what she decided I wanted.

On the Saturday afternoon of our first week together, she sat me down in her room and told me what we were going to do that weekend.

“Slaveboy, Miri is throwing a little orgy today and tomorrow, and she’s invited us along. We’re going; pack me some clothes and a towel, enough for the whole weekend. Don’t worry about anything else. OK?”

“Erm…”

“You don’t have a choice in any case.”

“Yes, Mistress!”

“Good boy. Get on with it then!”

I flew through the packing, and Arabella quickly checked I had put the right things in. She found my choices to her liking, and she swept out of the house with me holding the bag. Arabella wore a short white party dress that showed off her thighs beautifully. She led me on a long leash through the neighbourhood and then onto a fast tram that brought us to within walking distance of Miri’s apartment, and we went the rest of the way on foot.

Miri’s place had plenty of space, mostly in one big all-purpose room about forty metres by forty metres. She had two bedrooms, one bathroom, and the kitchen was part of her main living space in the back corner. When we walked through the front door, we found a few of Arabella’s friends already there, each of them already having their way with a slaveboy of their choice.

Miri rushed forward to meet us. A stocky leashed male followed her on all-fours, and two other male slaveboys trotted behind her. Miri looked stunning: her jet black hair was up in a severe bun, and she wore a black leather corset and matching thigh-high boots. Her glossy black muff was on display, and she strutted around like a woman at the height of her power.

“Hi Arabella, welcome home!”

“Hi Miri! What do you mean, we saw each other a few days ago…”

“You’ve not really come home until you’ve used and abused some nameless slaveboys, honey. Which one do you want to get started with?”

“Hmmmm, the shorter one with the nice eyes and curly hair. Yes, he’ll do. Any limits?”

“No permanent damage, nothing too biological – I’ve put a list in the apartment cloud, check it out.”

“Well, Gregory, I’ll leave you with Miri.”

“Thanks, honey! Slaveboy, come with me. I want to display you and I have just the right place. Crawl.”

I dropped to my knees without thinking and crawled after her. She had an even slimmer bottom than Arabella and she wiggled it back and forth hypnotically as she walked. I followed her on all-fours, past a few sofas, chairs and beds where her friends fucked slaveboys or used their tongues.

We came into sight of three round cages, each about high enough for a man to kneel in, and I realised what Miri had meant. There were several comfortable armchairs and one sofa arranged around the cages, so that whoever sat there could look at what was on display. Miri ushered me forward and had me stop in front of the middle cage.

“OK, I’ll open the rear door and let you in – go in forwards, face those chairs, that’s it, good slave. All right, first I’m going to gag you with this ball gag, like so. Just drool around it as required. Now, put one hand against the side of the cage, and the other against the other side, that’s it.

“Snap, snap with my cuffs and you’re in a nice display position. Hmmmm. So far so dull. How shall we spice you up? Open your legs and kneel up just a bit, this should be fun. Take a deep breath and let me plug you, good boy. You’re nothing but a slave and anyone your owner says can violate you, can violate you. That’s every woman at the party, in case you were wondering.

“A quick press on the remote, and the buttplug starts on maximum stimulation. Uh huh, you like that, don’t you my little slaveboy? I’m glad Arabella didn’t get a bull, smaller men are much more interesting to display. So much less arrogance to get past, you can get a good show going right away.

“I love how you wriggle and squirm already, slaveboy. Just one more thing to take care of and you’re done – have you ever come across a ‘snake’, slave? No. Hmmm. This is a flexible drone that goes around your cock. It can grip, pulse, vibrate, and even punish. It can, and will, get you off – it learns what you like.

“Well, that’s it, Gregory, you’re on display now. Be a dear for a couple of hours and I’ll let you out again. Click, click, go the locks, and you’re properly caged. I think I might just sit down over here and have a good look at you. Pet-slave, come lick momma now!”

Miri flopped down into an armchair, with a smile right across her face. Her pet-slave answered her call and raced to get his tongue between her thighs, and I watched from the cage. I felt a wriggling sensation on my cock, and looked down to find the snake had wrapped itself around my shaft.

I got harder and harder as it pulsed and vibrated, until I was completely erect. In my arse, the buttplug took on the same rhythms, and I had to suck in deep breaths through my nose to handle the sensations. A scrape of metal sounded from the cage wall: I had tried to move my hand down to adjust the snake, forgetting I was cuffed. Miri sniggered.

More girls joined Miri and had pet-slaves come to lick their pussies. All the girls watched me intently as I wriggled and struggled within the cage. I could sense an orgasm closing in on me, and I had no idea whether to delay to keep the show going, or just let it happen. I realised perhaps that was part of the mindfuck, but that did nothing to resolve the confusion.

What did resolve things was the snake. Its AI must have sensed that I was holding back, for it tightened down on my shaft and its vibrations sped up. I tried to gasp through the gag, but suddenly there was no possibility of resistance. I came hard and fast, spurting cum through the bars of the cage, drawing applause from the watching girls.

They left me on display for two more hours. I came four times while a selection of women watched the show. Arabella came over after an hour and injected me with a hypospray. My senses sharpened and I felt the fatigue in my muscles fade – it got me through the second hour until Miri finally released me.

“You were great to look at, Gregory, but now I want more. I’m going to fuck you with my strapon right over there, in the middle of the room where as many people as possible will see. I bet Arabella you’d cum again with my cock inside you – if I win she’s going to let me fuck her next. If she wins, she’ll take me instead. You won’t know what’s hit you, boy.”

Either Arabella was already drunk, or she wanted Miri to win, because she let her friend use an electrically powered stim-strapon on me. I’d always, always orgasmed with one of those inside me, and this time would be no different. Miri got me in position on all-fours, then she got ready behind me.

“Don’t worry, slaveboy, once I’ve had my fun with you I’ll let you meet some of my other guests. Lightly trained tongues like yours are such a novelty. Deep breath, now, boy, here I come,” said Miri.

We were right in the middle of the open plan apartment, on a huge ‘bed’ made from scatter cushions and quilts. Two other couples shared the space with us, and we were visible from many angles through the chairs, cages and other furniture in Miri’s place. She wasted no time; I gasped as she slid inside me, then I felt her hands wrap around my hips.

“Brace yourself, bitch,” she said.

Miri took me hard. I squealed and groaned as she pounded my arse. Whichever direction I wriggled in, she followed, always thrusting deep inside me. I looked back over my shoulder, to see a wicked look in her eyes and sweat already forming on her brow. There was a rosy glow in her cheeks, from heat or lust or both, and her mouth was open wide with pleasure.

I leaned back into her and let her thrust as deep inside me as she could. My submissive personality responded to her, and I realised I was grateful for the attention she was paying me. I braced myself against her and she tightened her grip on my hips, then we fucked each other like that, her cock sliding inside me and I sending my weight to meet it.

Miri moaned. I felt a tingling start in my cock. The stim-strapon sent pulses of pleasure through me and I shivered all over every time Miri went deep. It took just a few minutes before I was close to orgasm again, and Miri’s moans and noises made me think she could not be far behind. Was I going to cum that easily for her, to let her fuck my owner?

Yes. Yes, I was. Miri slowed down suddenly. She made me feel every stroke of the cock she wore in slow motion, and I found my heartbeat shot up and my head spun. Now all the sensations from the electrified strapon were filling me without pause. My cock spasmed as the strapon slid onto my prostate. I yelled out my orgasm and Miri patted my bottom tenderly.

“Good boy!” she said.

A while later we were in Miri’s little bedroom. I knelt on the floor, in touching distance of the big bed that took up most of the room. Miri and Arabella lay on top of the bed, a stim strapon connecting them. They did it in missionary, while I knelt with my legs open and my hands behind my back. I was forbidden to get off while they took whatever pleasure they wanted.

They made love. There was a real connection between them: fondness suffused each of their faces and tenderness guided their touches. Miri glided back and forth with the strapon and Arabella practically sang with each slow penetration. I watched, rapt. This was nothing like the way Arabella fucked me: this was real love, whether platonic or romantic I could not tell.

Miri made absolutely sure that Arabella came. She used the stim-strapon so skilfully, pleasuring my owner until she whimpered and moaned and then cried out in ecstasy. I knew no orgasm I had given Arabella so far was the equal of the one I had just seen. Being a slave was a strange thing: it made me see that I had so much more to learn about pleasure, if my owner would let me.

She would – I spent the rest of the orgy touring the apartment as a tongue slave. I licked pussy after pussy as different women took their pleasure from me. Some whipped me as I served them, some grabbed my hair, some sat on my face. All of them gave me little bits of guidance, tips and tricks, or just hurt me when I did the wrong thing. I pushed myself through the exhaustion and tried to learn what they could teach me.

Part 4 – Cleaning Duty

More days had passed, all of them much more normal than the orgy; Arabella stood with me in the hallway, ready to give me my day’s orders.

“Help daddy clean the house today, Gregory,” said Arabella as she left for her job interview.

She swept out of the house in a beautifully cut grey suit, to catch the monorail into town and then connect with the train network to whisk her away to a nearby city with lots of cutting edge scientific jobs going. I wished her luck, then went to find her father, who was already on hands and knees in the kitchen. We were both quite naked.

“Morning, thanks for helping me out,” he said, looking up at me.

“You’re welcome, though I mean, I am just following orders,” I replied.

“That’s just what a boy should do in your situation. How are you finding our way of life, anyway?” he asked as I knelt down beside him and we both started to scrub floors.

“The house AI is…?”

“Monitoring us, yes, but you can be frank about it, there’s no rule against honest self-reflection. Arabella didn’t bring you to our country so you could be some mindless drone. Say your piece, son.”

“Well… So far so good I guess. I thought I’d miss my freedom more, but now I don’t have it. It’s not that big of a deal, I’m being taken care of and I get to take care of Arabella in return. That’s nice.”

“You know I grew up here, so I never really knew any other way of life. What’s it like, controlling your own life so completely, is it scary?”

“Well yes and no, it’s not like I had infinite options even back home, they’re curtailing men’s rights there too, because of our violent instincts and tendency towards conflict. It’s more peaceful now, there’s less crime, and I guess… I guess I think that’s better.”

“It sounds like you might have ended up someone’s property there too.”

“Not property, no, but certainly not head of household, not with the way our society is changing. Isn’t that why you let Arabella go to university there?”

“I don’t let Arabella do anything, she makes her own choices, but I encouraged her to spread her wings if that’s what you mean. I want them both to see life. So you’re happy here?”

“Yes!”

“Good. I hope the cleaning doesn’t put you off too much.”

“It’s all for them, isn’t it?”

“That it is my boy. Let’s get to it.”

He turned away from me and I got a look at his arse as he scrubbed. Arabella’s father was in great shape, with tight muscles and well-defined lines all across his legs and back. He wore an identical unbreakable chastity cage to mine, as well as a gold pain ring around his balls that seemed to have something engraved around it – a date. Maybe his wedding? Or his enslavement perhaps.

It didn’t bother him at all to be naked around me or to let me see everything. I could make out faint traces of red in stripes across his backside, from a caning or a whipping I thought. Was it just part of his relationship with his wife – or hell, with his daughters – or had it been some kind of special event? Something bad he’d done? Or something he just enjoyed? I spent a while wondering how to ask him, and we moved onto polishing and tidying in the sitting room.

“So I can’t help noticing…” I said.

“Yes,” he replied.

“That you seem to have been punished recently.”

“Oh, the stripes? Yes, yes, I talked back to my wife when she ordered me to make her a fresh coffee the other day. She’d let the first one go cold. My fault for not reminding her it was there, I was too engrossed in massaging her feet at the time. Still. Hmmmm, yes, I can say this. After the caning we got a little too hot and bothered and forgot all about the new coffee – let’s just say we both made it up to each other.”

I laughed. “That’s nice I guess! Is that typical here?”

“Pretty typical yeah – the other husbands I play football with have a lot of similar stories.”

“Have you ever worked? Outside the home I mean?”

“I was a professional masseur when I was younger, but nowadays I just do the odd friend of the family for free. I think when Letitia leaves I might go back to it though, there are some great new sports massage techniques I could train in, and people of my age bracket get injured more and more, so I’ll always have clients.”

“Sounds very hands on.”

“I couldn’t do some complex academic job like you and Arabella, I prefer to just go for it. No patience for multi-year projects or whatever it is you all actually do.”

“Actually I mostly prefer day to day lab work, something I can give lots of attention to detail to and get just right.”

“I like to go with the flow more: massage lets you do that.”

“Mmmmm,” I replied.

I took his veiled advice and let my mind just go with it, the cleaning I mean. My hands caressed each object I polished like it was my owner’s thigh, and my eyes slid around, looking for spots I’d missed and homing in on the little things I might have overlooked. Approving noises issued from Arabella’s father every now and then, and eventually we moved onto the upstairs.

“Mistress says you’re doing the handwashing,” said Arabella’s father.

“Oh, right. OK.”

“I’ll show you where the hamper is and what to do…”

Minutes later I found myself in a little room off the kitchen, with a pile of dirty lingerie and a basin of cold soapy water. I picked up a black silk thong and plunged it into the water, then I started to gently work out the dirt from it. I tried not to imagine what the dirt was, but a twitch in my chastity cage heralded my cock trying to get free. No such luck: my mind filled with images of lust, while my penis strained in vain.

Between the three of them there was a lot of lingerie to get through, so much so that I wondered if they’d been saving it up for me. Arabella favoured bigger, frillier knickers and I tended to recognise those, not least the ones I had got off her with my teeth. Letitia and her mother tended towards smoother fabrics and more daring cuts, and I found those the hardest to wash, because there was so little fabric to work with. And because my hands shook when I picked them up.

So there I was, living out some kind of slaveboy fantasy. The reality was much more frustrating than I’d imagined, because it was real work and I had to do it flawlessly. I could not take my eye off the ball or miss a spot in case I got punished, and I really wanted to please my hosts with the quality of my work. My hands worked and worked until they ached, and the pile finally disappeared.

We ate lunch together after I hung everything out to dry in the backyard (with my shorts on for modesty), then we cleaned the upstairs of the house with equal gusto to the downstairs. That just left the basement, which I had gathered was the playroom for Arabella’s parents. Henry took me down the carpeted stairs, then unlocked the door with a touch of his thumb on a sensor.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “you only need to clean the floors, I’ll do the equipment. There’s nothing nasty there, just your common or garden grime and muck.”

The basement had a nice pattern of black and white tiles all across the floor, broken up only by the metal or wooden legs of a flogging horse, a few chairs, and a set of stocks. Along one wall were ceiling-high metal cages, enough to hold perhaps six or seven slaves squashed in together, or three with room to move around a little. In the corner was a dresser and some cupboards; the open door revealed a plethora of sex toys.

“So, um,” I said, “do all houses here have a room like this or is this you know, pretty rare?” I asked.

“It’s not like I have figures for you, Gregory. I’d say it’s pretty common though, we have friends who entertain in theirs and we do the same from time to time. Some people are a little less adventurous about their sex lives than us though, and we don’t judge them for that. Some just prefer a more sedate life.”

“Not you, though,” I said, picking up a riding crop that had fallen into a corner behind a red leather chair.

“Lowest drawer please. Not us indeed… And I think not you either… Now, let’s clean.”

We made good time there, me on my hands and knees scrubbing with bucket and brush, he with sanitiser and wipes in hand. In no time we had the room spotless and gleaming, and he declared our tasks for the day finished. He pulled up the holographic display from his wrist computer and I saw him pinging his wife’s location – I found their maps hard to read as I knew so little of the area, but I thought she seemed to be moving fast, so must be on the monorail. Perhaps coming home.

“If you need to use the bathroom, please do so now, then return down here to join me. My wife will appreciate coming home to two caged slaveboys kneeling in display position – little touches like that help our more dominant halves show how much we appreciate them.”

“Sure thing,” I replied.

I should have known that wasn’t the end of it. When Francine stalked her way downstairs into the basement, she smiled with glee to see us both kneeling, naked, in the cage with the door locked. Neither of us could open it – only she or the girls. Her heels clicked across the tiles and she grasped the bars, then looked down at us.

“Hello boys,” she purred.

“Good afternoon my love,” said Henry.

“Good afternoon Mistress,” I said.

“Gregory, you have done a most magnificent job around the house,” said Francine, her eyes gleaming.

“Thank you Mistress.”

“Most magnificent indeed. Arabella says I may reward you, Gregory. Do you think you deserve a reward?”

“I don’t know Mistress. I just followed orders.”

“No, you cleaned with reverence, with love even. The house records what you say in the common areas, Gregory. I think you have earned a little reward, and I do so love to help break in new boys. I think we’ll use the stim strapon. Cage: unlock. Crawl out here.”

A minute later she had me strapped over the fucking bench down there in the cellar, my arse presented and ready for her to fuck. She stood in front of me and stripped down out of her clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor. Off to one side knelt Henry, still caged but with his dick set free. I glanced at him and saw the lust in his eyes as he watched his wife; she donned a strapon then strode behind me.

“What a beautiful sextoy my daughter has captured for us,” she whispered.

“Thank you Mistress,” I replied – what else could I say?

“I’m keeping your slave cock caged at your owner’s request, but who knows, maybe you’ll cum inside it if I turn the stim pulses up to the maximum setting.”

I gulped.

“I’ll get mine, and I’ll fuck you long enough that my husband gets his. You’re far from the first boy we’ve made use of this way, and you certainly won’t be the last Gregory. Consider this your penance for flaunting such a deliciously fuckable backside around my home these past weeks.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Here I come!”

“Oh!”

“Who’s your mommy?”

“Huh?”

“Who’s your mommy slaveboy?”

“Oh! Oh god.”

“Who. Is. Your. Mommy?”

“You are.”

“Say it.”

“You’re my mommy!”

“Good boy. Again.”

“You’re my mommy!”

“Louder!”

“You’re my mommy!” I yelled.

“Damn right bitch.”

I hadn’t seen that side to her before, I guess because she didn’t show it to her daughters. She dialled up the stim strapon to its maximum setting; I heard her gasp with pleasure as the pulses hit her clit, and I groaned as electricity surged through my prostate. Francine fucked me with long, quick strokes. I looked back over my shoulder to see a fiery gleam in her eyes, and she nodded when our eyes met, a sign that she had seen me seeing her, that she knew I recognised enflamed dominance when I felt it.

She slapped my arse as she pounded me.

“Slut,” she said.

“Uh huh.”

“Answer ‘yes Mistress Mommy’. Whore.”

“Yes Mistress Mommy.”

“Bitch.”

“Yes Mistress Mommy.”

“Cockfiend.”

“Yes Mistress Mommy.”

“Buttslut.”

“Yes Mistress Mommy.”

“Wanton young man.”

“Yes Mistress Mommy.”

“Delicious treat.”

“Yes Mistress Mommy.”

“Good boy.”

“Yes Mistress Mommy.”

Francine threw her hips forward and rammed her strapon cock deep inside me, then she drew back and cast herself towards me again. Her moans grew ragged and her breath lost its rhythm; she grunted and groaned as she thrust inside me and I felt her start to shake. She was close, I was not. If she came before me I would get no release, I thought, so I tried to let go of my self-control and let the pulses take me.

No luck. With a great scream Francine came all of a sudden. She rammed her cock inside me and then switched the pace down a few notches so she could savour each stroke and use it to enhance her heady climax. I looked back at her and saw great satisfaction spread over her face; just at that moment I heard Henry grunt, then I caught sight of his jet of cum as it left the cage.

“You’ve pleased Mistress Mommy greatly, slaveboy,” said Francine, “A shame you didn’t cum, but Arabella will know you were a good little slut for me. Maybe she’ll take pity when she comes to untie you. Just one more thing, Gregory: you missed one pair of knickers earlier. Do you know which?”

“No, Mistress, sorry, Mistress.”

“They’re right here where I took off my clothes just now, Gregory.”

“Oh.”

“Open wide Gregory, your hands are tied so a little slobber will be a nice alternative to a hand wash. Good boy. See you later hon. Come, Henry, let’s go start dinner.”

They left me tied down there, my arse up in the air, Francine’s knickers taped in my mouth, my hands and legs bound to the horse. It was a little uncomfortable, but the padded bench helped, and the house’s AI kept a watchful gaze on my breathing and pulse. I was in no danger. I could hear nothing from the rest of the house thanks to the soundproofing of the room, and could not see the time. Perhaps an hour later, perhaps two, Arabella came to find me.

“I hope you have some energy left, Gregory. Seeing you like this has me all hot and bothered…” she said, then I watched her clothes hit the floor, “Mom said I can use the room tonight – I’ve even brought my stim-strapon.”

I gulped.

Part 5 – Parting Ways

I think it was around two weeks later that Arabella came to find me in her room, where I was shackled by my ankle to a long chain, and told me she needed to talk.

“Gregory, I have to go away for a while. I got offered the new job I applied for a couple of weeks ago, and there’s a residential training course from it.”

“I see, Mistress,” I replied.

“The thing is, and I’m really sorry this puts such a crimp in your tour of our world, that I can’t take you. I’m not allowed: it’s an intensive course with full focus required. The training centre itself provides slave-service, and they’re trained in how not to interfere in our learning. So you can’t come with me, you have to stay here or do something else.”

“Like what?”

“If you want I could rent you to a slave-hotel for a fortnight, that might be fun?”

“I’d be serving strangers?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I’d like that.”

“Not that, then. I have one other option for you: Letitia likes you a lot and would be happy to look after you while I’m away…”

“Look after?” I said, “What does that mean?

“It means co-own.”

“Oh!”

“She would control you and have contractual rights over you just like I do. I want you to take a day to think it over: your options are Letitia owns you, I rent you out to a friend, or you go home for a couple of weeks and then come back. Nothing else.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

A few hours later I told her my choice: I enjoyed spending time with her family a lot, and I felt safe where I was with them. I would consent to Letitia co-owning me. That seemed to be that bar some paperwork and a short online interview with an administrator who checked to see if I was of sound mind – I was, so she altered my contract. From then on I had two owners.

A few days later, when I awoke from sedated sleep, Arabella had already left, and I was alone in the bed. She had wanted to leave without any difficult goodbyes, so she had simply knocked me out with a mild sleeping tablet then left me. I felt cool metal on my ankle: I had been chained to the bed. Nothing to do but wait, then.

Letitia came in about half an hour later. She put her finger to her lips for me to see: silence. I closed my mouth in answer and she nodded. Her delicate hands whisked away the covers and revealed my nudity to her. My cock got a little harder at the sight of her, and she beamed when she saw that.

My new co-owner was a girl of nineteen, five years younger than me. Wavy brown hair framed her heart-shaped face; her sapphire eyes glistened with energy. She wore an expression of feigned innocence on her face, pouty and playful, and she batted her eyelids at me. Letitia was short and curvy with B-cup breasts and a slim waist. She wore a pink pyjama top and matching shorts.

“OK, Gregory, when I unlock your ankle, you can crawl after me into my bedroom, then kneel on the floor. Good, that’s it, boy, know your place. Now follow

….

“All right, Gregory, here’s how it’s going to be. First off, address me as “Domina”, OK? I was only ‘Miss Letitia’ to you when Arabella owned you, but now you’ll accord me the same respect you showed her. More, in fact, when I break you a bit more. Here is my stated intention: I will break and train you until you extend your slave-visa here for a year, then I will decide whether to keep you.

“Don’t believe me? You don’t see the petmale I was training here anymore because he went full slave thanks to me. I got 10% of his sale fee, and that will be more than enough to pay my way through university. He came to me to explore his slavemind, just like you did, and I wrenched a crowbar in there and prized.

“Please don’t think I mean this as a threat: I want you to be happy, and I know a slave when I see one. You are a slave, Gregory, you aren’t meant to be free. You knew this when you signed up to travel here with Arabella, but she can’t take you over the edge like I can. I’m gifted, you see, and I’ve developed my craft since I turned eighteen.

“First things first: any cock I own is a locked cock, so let’s put you in a chastity cage. A coldpack first, horny boy… Then the ring, then the body, then I close the lock. Easy as one two three you are mine. Lie down on the bed, on your back, and get ready, because Domina needs her pussy licking.”

She descended quickly, facing down towards my feet, and planted her wet pussy on my face. Her scent filled my nostrils and her moans filled my ears. My tongue found her clit quickly. She wriggled and squirmed, using my face as a sextoy, and I found her movements to be delightful. I breathed in deep whenever she let me; her taste and smell were everything I needed in that moment.

I felt her lean forward and clip something around my balls. What was that? What had she done? Arabella had never mentioned anything about this.

“Just my little present to you, slaveboy, the gift of assured obedience. That, as you may have guessed, is a shock ring. You cannot in my opinion train a slave without a shock ring around his balls, so I’ve been most generous and provided one. Thank me with your tongue, now, slave: go faster on my clit. Unh!”

The lithe girl thrust her hips down towards me, which forced her pussy to smother me completely. I could breathe, but only by inhaling through her, taking in all of her scent and taste at the same time. She was heavenly. I licked her faster and faster, and her moans grew louder and louder.

“Doesn’t it just focus your mind to know I could fry your balls at any moment? Here, let me demonstrate level 1: keep licking if you want to avoid level 2…”

I screamed a little into her pussy as she shocked me. That was level 1? What the hell was level 2 like? Level 1 had been a searing shock that left me shaking all over. I collected my wits and kept licking Letitia, fast enough that she didn’t hit me with another dose of pain. That she was willing to do that to me just as a demonstration was quite something.

“Good boy, you took that so well. Most new slaves like you would be squirming or pleading or crying right now, but you just kept right on licking like a human sextoy. Oh god that made me wet. Keep going… oh!”

I felt her orgasm gush across my face. She screwed her pussy down into me and her climax filled my mouth. I licked and swallowed in a frenzy, trying to keep her going as long and hard as I could. She giggled in response. Her climax just kept on flowing. It seemed like I could not stop myself and she would not stop me, so I kept pleasuring her for a long time.

Finally, she hopped off me.

“Not bad for someone untrained. So, slaveboy, that was great, but now you need to get ready to go out. Hop in the shower, then put on the red hotpants in that top drawer there. All the sluttiest boys wear red…”

*****

We spent the day at the mall and it was not at all bad. Letitia wore a red dress, cut very short, which matched my hotpants. She had on long red boots to go with it, and I spent the day following the sound of her heels as they clacked against the tiled floor. She jerked me along after her on a long leash, making me follow close behind, with my hands full of her shopping. I longed to lick those boots and kiss that arse.

She dragged me round her favourite shops then we went to her favourite restaurant, where we got a booth and ordered some pizzas and drinks. Letitia played footsie with me under the table, making me laugh. Her foot explored up my thigh and found its way to my crotch, where she used her toes to play with my chastity cage through the fabric of the hotpants.

“Tell me, Gregory, what do you want to get out of being a slave?” she asked me; there were few other patrons in the restaurant and I doubted we were going to be overheard.

“Well, Domina,”

“You can call me Letitia most of the time, you know – just pepper in a ‘Domina’ every now and then please,” she said.

“Sure. Letitia. OK, Letitia, well… Hmmm…”

“You know I’m a trained slave trainer, right?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Well, I’m going to let you in on a secret: we’re very good at reading facial expressions, as well as the bio-feedback from your collar, so I will know if you’re lying. What do you get out of being a slave?”

“I get to serve women without having to worry about whether I’m wanted or not.”

“Interesting answer. Do you believe women are superior?”

“I think there are lots of aspects to this-”

“There are not!” she laughed. “Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“There, I can tell that’s the truth. We are, you know, it’s an indisputable fact: intellect, emotional maturity, cognitive abilities, the ability to reproduce, it’s all there. Men are wonderful but only as our servants, or so I believe. Some may not, but then you know that, you grew up in some horrible equal rights dystopia.”

“It wasn’t that bad…”

“On the surface, sure. But their life expectancy and general happiness are measurably lower than ours…”

We stayed there for two hours debating the pros and cons of matriarchy versus equality. Letitia, I had to admit, was simply smarter and better informed than me when it came to social trends and philosophy; when we got onto hard science she knew a few things about brain chemistry that I’d never heard before, but her main education and study seemed to be more in psychology.

I made her laugh with some bad jokes every now and then, and she kept her foot on my crotch on and off throughout our time in the restaurant. I’m sure the servers noticed – they were all male slaves, and they seemed to really enjoy their job – one of them even winked at me when Letitia wasn’t looking.

Arabella hadn’t talked to me like that, not ever. Letitia was actually interested in my opinions, which it turned out on closer examination were usually wrong when she unpicked them. I knew Arabella was smart because I had studied with her, but her sister was obviously smarter still – more intelligent than me and not afraid to show it. She mastered my arguments then mastered me in turn.

“What shall we do now, Gregory?” she asked when we finally finished in the restaurant.

I knew not to reflect the question back: she wanted a direct answer.

“I noticed there’s a swimming pool not far from the mall – how about that?” I said.

“Oh you mind-reader!” she laughed, “Yes, let’s go!”

She explained as we went that we could check her shopping into a storage crate in the mall itself and it would be delivered home for her. I asked if we should go get swimming costumes and she just laughed, then told me that we were going to the adult part of the complex, where clothes would not be required.

Half an hour later we found ourselves naked in a fifty metre by fifty metre pool, in a dazzling white-tiled room with a frosted glass roof that let sunshine in to gently warm those in the pool below. There were a handful of others in the pool: two young women and their two young male companions, an older male and female couple, obviously slave-husband and owner wife, and a handful of lone male and female swimmers doing serious exercise.

We stuck to the free swimming part of the pool where no one minded if you messed around or got in the way. Letitia and I swam together, dunked each other, raced back and forth around the lane, and chatted about our lives in between. When we stood together in the shallow end, she pounced on me and wrapped her thighs around my torso, then kissed me passionately for a long time.

“How’s your cock cage doing?”

“Tight, domina,” I replied.

“Good. I’d be horribly offended if you were soft in there,” she said.

“Impossible, Letitia,” I replied. She gave me her most salacious smile in response.

We watched each other intently throughout that afternoon in the pool. Letitia’s curves were to die for, and her jet-black landing strip of pubic hair made me salivate and fantasise. I swam behind her wearing goggles just to enjoy the view, and she took a turn doing the same. Under the water I could see that most of the other males in the pool were kept in chastity, but every now and then there was a free cock on show: usually quite hard.

Our journey home was rushed: Letitia held my hand with a real urgency and we walked as fast as our legs could carry us until we got back to her house. A few long strides took us up the stairs and into her bedroom, where Letitia unlocked my chastity cage and then threw me down on the bed on my back.

“You’ve been such a good boy, today, Gregory,” she said to me.

“Thank you, Letitia.”

“Call me Domina while we fuck, slaveboy,” she said back.

“Yes, Domina, sorry Domina.”

“Ready?”

“Yes, Domina.”

“Good!”

She took it really slow to start with, raising and lowering herself to get long strokes from my cock. I breathed a deep sigh of relief as we started to make love: I had been hot and bothered all day since she put me in the cage, but the reward was mind-blowing. My new Domina fucked me there on the bed, with her curvy thighs and juicy breasts jiggling around and her eyes searing into mine.

“Who owns you? Uh!” she cried as we fucked.

“You do Domina!”

“Who controls your slave cock?”

“You do Domina!”

“Who’s going to keep you as her pet?”

“Erm?”

“I am slaveboy. Who’s going to make you sleep in that little cage tonight?”

“You are Domina!”

“Who’s going to leash and mitt and train you when she feels like it?”

“You are Domina!”

“Damn right!”

We came hard a little while later. Letitia screwed me senseless, and I orgasmed inside her with a great bellow of relief. She brought her dripping pussy off my crotch and planted it on my face, then had me lick her clit while I cleaned her up. I heard her cry out, then she climaxed on my tongue while I lapped and lapped at her, until finally she was spent.

She lay down beside me on the bed.

“Get off the bed, onto the floor, on all fours, right now,” she whispered in my ear.

I complied.

“All right, Gregory, you’re my property now, and I wouldn’t have taken you on if I hadn’t thought you’d make a good part-time pet-slave. You’ve seen leashed boys on all-fours crawling behind their owners – you’re one of them now. No arguments. Let’s get you ‘dressed’.”

I did not argue. She put me in a black leather harness that wrapped tight around my torso and made me feel wonderfully owned and controlled. To my collar she clipped a long, strong chain leash that she could use to lead me around, then to my knees she attached pads that meant I could crawl in comfort. That just left the mitts.

“All right, puppy, these are going on your hands and then locking around your wrists. They’re strong enough that they will only come off if I take them off, and they’re padded inside so you can crawl on them without getting injured. Here, push your hand in… Now the other one… And that’s it, you’re my puppy!

“For the next few hours, bark, yip or whine only – no talking, or I’ll shock your balls. Good boy. Now, follow me downstairs to the basement where we’ll do some basic training.”

Letitia put on a short plaid skirt, and a tight white blouse, no knickers, no shoes. I followed her downstairs into the basement, where she had me kneel up with my mitts next to my chest and my legs spread wide – she called it display posture – and had me hold it for a while. My eyes flitted around, taking in her fine curvy body and the starkness of the bondage basement.

“Eyes on your master, puppy,” she chided.

I yipped quietly and she beamed.

“Louder.”

I increased my yip volume a little.

“Louder, puppy,” she said with some frustration.

I yipped more audibly. Letitia frowned, then grabbed the remote and shocked my balls. I screamed but managed to keep from saying anything audibly human.

“Louder!”

I yipped at full volume.

“Good puppy! I’ll break you yet…”

Letitia taught me all the basics: sitting, rolling over, fetching, staying, displaying, and most especially begging. She made liberal use of my ball shock ring and her crop to correct any mistakes I made, and twice she had us stop so I could lick her pussy to a climax while my erection stayed untouched and throbbing.

After two hours of training she had her mother join us in the basement. Both women watched as I took up the sit position, then they praised my obedience. They watched as I rolled over, then they praised my agility. They watched and giggled as I fetched, and they praised my reactions. They had me beg to them, and they praised my lack of ego.

“Your father will have dinner ready now, Letitia,” said her mother.

“I know, sorry, we’ll be up soon.”

“Gregory might need to dress for dinner?”

“No, he’ll eat as a puppy.”

“All right, I’ll tell your father to put down a bowl of Boyfood. But, Letitia?”

“Yes?”

“That little puppy stiffy is rather distracting and not really a family dinner thing…”

“Yes, mum!”

“Get rid of it would you?”

“OK!”

“See you shortly.”

Letitia had me kneel down on all fours, then she got down beside me and wrapped her slender fingers around my shaft. She started to pump up and down, and to get me going she kept up a patter of domme-talk.

“Puppy! Slave! My treasured pet!” she said in a low voice. “Mine to display, mine to train, mine to break… In a minute you’ll eat off a bowl on the floor while I hold your leash, and I know you’ll love it. Tonight you’ll sleep mitted in a cage in my room, and everyone will know you’re my pet. My puppy. My possession. Mine.”

I spurted across the basement floor a few minutes later, and Letitia clapped her hands together at the mess I made, then made me lick it up. She fetched my chastity cage and locked it back onto me, then led me by the leash to have dinner with her family. I ate on the floor and didn’t participate in the conversation.

When dinner was finished, Letitia brought me back up to her bedroom, took off my pet-paraphernalia and checked in with me.

“Enjoy that?” she asked.

“I…”

“Take your time…”

“I’ve never done that before.”

“No, but you did well. So did you? I mean…”

I could see it really mattered to her – she had shared some part of herself with me that day, and if I rejected it it would wound her deeply. I took her in my arms.

“Immensely, Letitia. Surprisingly, shockingly, strangely, but immensely. Being your pet was wonderful.”

“Good boy,” she whispered back to me.

That night she put me back in mitts and locked me in a cage to sleep. The cage itself was around a metre and a quarter long, and a metre high, which meant I had to curl up in order to sleep. Letitia locked the door with a flourish then blew me a kiss, and I realised I’d never enjoyed a day with someone so much as I had with her. However she had done it, she had mastered me in less than twenty four hours, and my body sank down onto the cushions sure in the knowledge that I wanted to spend many more days with her.

Part 6 – The Forest

A few days later, Letitia proposed a trip and I accepted: some time together camping in her favourite forest, where we could play uninhibited and really get to know each other’s desires. I jumped at the chance, and she made the arrangements for us. Not long after, we set off.

An aircar dropped Letitia and I down in a clearing at the edge of the vast forest. I unloaded our bags while Letitia strode around the clearing, gulping in big lungfuls of the fragrant forest air. She wore tight khaki shorts and a white vest, with brown boots on her feet. I wore a pair of regulation shorts, black, and matching boots.

“Smell that air, slaveboy!” she sang.

“Yes, Domina,” I replied.

I breathed it in too. The aircar drifted back up into the sky on autopilot, leaving us with just our packs and the trees. We were many miles from any other people, with a huge slice of wilderness just to ourselves. I donned the heavier pack while Letitia took a smaller one, which was still substantial. I hoped we didn’t have far to walk.

“Shorts off, Gregory,” she ordered.

“Oh. Erm, yes, Domina. Is it…?”

“Is it safe? Yes, slave, otherwise I would not have ordered it. One demerit. The area we are in is geofenced for many miles all around us, clearly marking it as adults-only, anything goes. You can be as naked and sexual here as I order you to be. Shorts off, now.”

I whisked them off and put them in my pack, then got ready to follow Letitia into the forest. She clipped a long chain leash to my collar, then she strode off in front. Every so often she glanced back, always with a smile on her face, to check me out as I walked behind her. I couldn’t help but check her out in those tight shorts, and I think she knew it: her tight bottom moved hypnotically in front.

We walked deep into the forest, past many little brooks and streams. I thought at one point I heard a waterfall somewhere, but I could not investigate, for Letitia guided me by the leash further into the wilderness. Sun dappled the floor through the leaves, and the air was filled with birdsong. I sweated a little beneath the weight of the pack, but it was light enough not to bother me.

By and by we came to a little clearing that my Domina liked the look of. There was perhaps twenty metres of clear space amidst the trees, and I could hear a babbling brook close by. Warm air caressed my naked skin, and I let the sweat evaporate from my back when I took my pack off. Letitia smiled at me, then she ran over to me and held me. We kissed for a long time, standing there beneath the shade of the tall trees.

“Make love to me right here on the ground,” she said.

“Yes, Domina,” I replied.

I took her in my arms, then laid her gently down on a bit of mossy ground I thought would be soft. She kept hold of my leash in one hand and used the other to caress me. I brushed her skin, all up and down her body, and enjoyed the little sounds of pleasure it drew from her lips. She arched her body up into mine, and we ground against each other.

“I need you inside me,” she said.

I didn’t need any more encouragement. I slipped inside her and she moaned gently. We kissed and kissed as we made love. Our movements were slow, so we could savour every moment, and feel every sensation. Her body was hot against mine, and with every thrust I felt her beneath me, completing me, being part of me.

Birds chirped in the trees and the nearby brook babbled. Letitia and I gazed into each other’s eyes and connected, down there on the forest floor. She had altered my cock to fit her pussy perfectly, and it was as if we had become two parts of a perfect whole, interlocking and shaped for each other.

She kissed me passionately and I gave her kisses back with equal force. Letitia writhed around on the ground, letting me take the lead, letting me set the pace, and only pressing her cunt back against my thrusts with gentle force. I felt how much she wanted me to stay inside her, so I let my thrusts end slowly and waited each time, a few beats, before I withdrew.

Letitia came first, quite some time later. I let myself feel the rhythm of her orgasm through my shaft, and I timed my thrusts to keep her going. Strange that I already knew her well enough to be able to do that. When she finished the very last of her climax, she looked at me with big, wide innocent eyes, and I came suddenly as I realised just how incredibly hot she was.

I held her for a while, until we both were at rest, then I let her go and started to kiss her body all over. She nodded for me to continue: I kissed down to her labia then up to her breasts, then I sucked on her nipples while she made little mmph noises of pleasure that I loved to hear. When I went down again, she waited until I was at her crotch before giving me an order.

“Please clean me, Gregory,” she said quietly.

“Yes, Domina,” I whispered back.

I lay on my belly and licked up my cum from her pussy. She wriggled down to press herself into me, and I thrust my tongue deep inside her to get her as clean as could be. The taste of my cum was salty on my tongue, mixed in with the headier taste of her cunt. I licked and licked and licked, until finally she was spotless and I was humble before her.

“Good boy, now set up camp and unpack our things,” she said.

Letitia sprung up, put her shorts and vest back on, and rummaged in a pack until she had found a riding crop to supervise me with. I rushed up to my feet and got busy setting the camp up. She cropped me when I failed to ask her where she wanted the tent, then again when one of the poles fell down. Her swats stung: she meant to punish, not to tease.

“Thank you, Domina,” I said without thinking.

“You are welcome, slaveboy,” she purred back.

When camp was set up I cooked. We ate sausages and beans from metal bowls, sitting in folding camp chairs, like a regular old couple. Letitia had taken me off the leash, leaving my collar on, and we sat and talked about what we might do for the rest of the trip. We decided to explore our surroundings, so we donned boots and walked.

That led us to a waterfall and pool a few miles from where we had camped. Letitia threw off her clothes and jumped into the water, and I took off my boots and followed. We swam together and embraced in the water; her tongue entered my mouth moments later, and she wrapped her legs around my torso. We kissed like that, me taking her tiny weight in the water, she squeezing me with her thighs.

We spent some time playing together in the pool and washing under the waterfall. The stream of water turned her wavy brown hair jet black and almost straight. She looked like a goddess of the forest, standing there under the waterfall, with insects buzzing past and a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of nearby trees. I realised I really felt something for her, watching her in that moment.

Letitia took her pleasure from me at the poolside. She laid me down on my back then sat on my face, so that she could look at the waterfall while I worshipped her. I got busy on her clit, and she settled her weight down onto me, forcing my head down into the wet dirt at the water’s edge. I wanted only to please her, so I licked hard and fast as she fucked my face with her cunt.

“Good slave, good boy, it’s not all lovemaking you know, sometimes you just gotta be used,” she said to me.

“Yes, Domina,” I mumbled into her pussy.

I couldn’t agree more. I felt electricity surging through my body. I was hers; I wanted to be hers. She wanted me to be hers too, and we each knew it. I tasted her on my tongue, and knew that the taste meant superiority, power, control. I needed her to be there and she was there, riding my face like it was the most wonderful face in the world.