FutureDomme

FutureDomme  Chapter 1
by Counterparts199

"Come on baby.  Over my knee; you've been bad!"  Said the lady in the
commercial.  The man, hairy chested, pot bellied, in nothing but a big, white,
syntho-cotton diaper, hesitated as if in fear, but then toddled over and laid
across her well dressed knee and quietly wailed big tears as she paddled him
with a hairbrush.

"Try 'Jears' detergent in your next wash.  Never know when you'll have to show
up your brightest whites!"

Joe flipped the channel changer, "Charlie's Dark Angels," were on channel 487,
always seemingly a rerun.  Never into the plastic people glam-show scene, Joe
went to 488, a game show, he couldn't remember the name of it, a woman's show,
not at all unlike the old 'Oprah' shows, only the women were less dumpy, more
professional, and for therapy, instead of Doctor Whatshisname, they simply had
their boyfriends duck into the pillory wall and got to toss eggs at their heads
for prizes whenever the interviewed couples got to a point where they discussed
the battle of the sexes in mainly female terms.  All in good fun, but nothing
like the music videos, where channel 489 was featuring headbanger girl bands of
the 2030s, guys crawling at their feet with loin cloths on that left the
occasional gaping view of a penis or two.

It was the rage, strong women, now that the fact that 78% of all college
graduates were women, and the economic tables had finally turned on top as well. 
We'd even had a string of four female Presidents in a row, the demographics on
putting a woman up for office always having been better, gaining most of the
female vote and many of the more liberal male ones as well.  It was almost as
lopsided now as it had been Southern Presidents around the turn of the century,
that too a fluke of demographics and most of the women Southern anyway, though
with global warming being what it is, the immigration north was apt to change at
least some of that, particularly since the breach tragedies in Florida.

As for entertainment, the old rough rapper yelling, "Make my bitch get down and
serve my d....," sort of mass appeal was long gone, it having been replaced by
that much more PC strong woman lifestyle ads and music videos.  It was all the
rage, too, for celebrities to dance on the red carpet, sporting a servant or two
in tow, mostly male, but lesbianism being on the rise and even medicines to make
one into one if desired, a few female servants as well, though sporting a female
servant had gotten kind of like wearing fur to an environmental convention.

I flipped my digital TV from television to Sims Internet Mode, Itinerate
Counter-Culture.  Setting in my preferences, I was immediately connected to
27,195 matching players.  As usual, spam found a way through before it could
find a partner, it an ad for FemWorld, "spend a weekend or a summer.  Or, be all
that you can be, and make a career of it.  Femworld is for men like you, ready
for a challenge and adventure of a lifetime!  Remember, we have the exclusive
pay as you go option, assuming the usual fees related to time of adventure. 
Surrounded by the women of your dreams and likeminded peers.  We match
pheromones, what man can pass up ..."

I hit the anti-spam icon, and it faded away with the sound of a whip cracking.

"Incoming call!  Oh boy, Joe, your sister, Susan!"  I'd turned down the normal
speaker volume, and the 'Windows 2044 PMS' icon, and the sound chip and
everything else I could, but along with the text and dancing gnomes off of my
main screen, I still got blaring sound for both my incoming phone calls and
those annoying spams.  Jesus, you'd think that after sixty years of communal
internet technology, a person could figure out how to stop some of the crud a
person wants stopped, but hey, I still didn't even know how to get rid of the
history files that the 'get rid of history files' icons couldn't get rid of, so
I'd gotten to the point of putting towels over my speakers just to dampen it
some.  Shoot, last week I'd even gotten an internet spam out of my electric
socket, the whole house humming, "Come to Femworld.  Take a load off!  Get your
life in order.  We fix all addictions!  Get away from that pesky inlaw!  Learn a
new skill.  Most education programs are pay as you play.  Sign a title 47, and
thumb that nag on the way out the door, Mister!"  I'd been dead on my ass after
a long day at the warehouse, and in bed, and the electric wires in my house had
done that to me, making my house into a boombox.  I'd love to get my hands on
the Congressman who allowed the electric company to get into the internet
business, a service I didn't even subscribe to, and yet they'd found a way to
make the AC wrapped into my rooms into a speaker coil for just long enough to
deny it, just to make use of the low-spead.

"Hi sis, what's up?"  I said to the speaker phone.

"Got an old fashioned girl who goes by the name of Ellis who wants to meet my
brother!  You need to show up for once.  Stop hiding behind that computer screen
and get over here tomorrow at sevenish!  I'll have my boytoy Hal cook
synth-lobster with butter bursts, your favorite.  We may be divorced next month,
but he's still the best cook I've ever had, so why not use him to help get my
brother hitched; besides, I think we might even make an arrangement after we
divorce; for the cooking, that is."  She laughed.

"You're keeping him, just to cook?"  She made way better money than me, but
because I'd never thought of a woman keeping someone who wasn't at least
contracted or indentured, it startled me some.

I hit the phone monitor button, and there she was, typing her words so they'd
come out like Betty Boop, her favorite old time cartoon character.  It struck me
that the only time I ever gotten to speak with my real sister, her using her
real voice, was when we met at her place to meet another one of her friends in
hopes of hitching me up after my 6th divorce.

I had my limits, and at 46, doubted I'd be all that interesting to any of her
professional friends, though more and more, professional women were having to
marry men of lesser positions, particularly since there were so few of us around
with the women lasting so much longer and more and more males buying into the
trend of loaning or even signing themselves off as servants.  My own
great-grandmother was a hundred and twenty-seven, she outlasting great
granddaddy, granddad, and dad.  Women had better insurance too, and then there
was the rumor that lots of guys were turning up in communes or worse, work
farms, some run by unscrupulous divas, leaving us bachelors in short supply,
though the lesbian conditioning and new sex aids helped a lot towards relieving
the stress and in spite of our short supply, still left us diminishing in power
on all sorts of social and economic levels.

"Turn on your camera, Joe.  I can't see if it's you or a voice bot?"  I flipped
it on, surprised that I'd managed to find the trick to turn the damned thing off
last time I'd been online.  Just for fun, I tried to turn it off again, and
again it stuck on, the mini-corner-view of me wiggling to find a relevant icon. 
I'd be five hours trying to get it off again, I understood, as I smiled at the
camera lens, which incidentally, was the same thing as my multi-D monitor.

"Looking kind of pasty, Joe.  Been online too much?  I can see that you've just
logged into Itinerate Counter-Culture.  What kind of kinky thing has my brother
got in his bio?  Haven't I been trying to save you from that kind of stuff?  You
have no idea the extremes that playing around with culture stuff can lead to;
being unable to get the open news in your socioeconomic status.  What do you
think I've been trying to set you up for?  Don't you know that the news for
males is filtered now on the net, and that you might do well to take some of my
advice?"  She started pecking around for my bio, but hey, at least the secrecy
screen worked; she unable to scratch out a clue from my Alias.  I took that as a
miracle.

"I live a drab life; thank the goddess," I told her, in my own voice, my hands
free.

"So, you coming?"

"Sure.  Might as well eat.  Did you tell her that I was 6 times divorced and
that my penis is 46 years old, not one nanobug to it's puny name?"

"Oh, come-on, Joe.  Some women like men who are natural; besides, she has money
for nanos if she really likes you as a husband.  Think of it like a challenge. 
Besides, it's more about what's in the mind than what's below the belt.  She has
a great job and estate; probably she can get you some nanos for your dick, hee
hee."

"That's what the problem is, alright.  Last six rich women mind fucked me far
more than any other kind of fucking, and not a one would spring for an
improvement in my nano status or health plan, married or not; imagining me a
throw-away on our wedding days.  All they wanted was a new toy for awhile!"

"Florence would have kept you longer.  You should be more respectful to your
sister too, Joe.  Remember that law against rude, sexual comments to ladies?  I
could be logging this.  I could scramble your voice around that fuck word, and
you'd be toast.  You could end up in jail."

"Yes Ma'am," I poked back, being overly formal.

She chuckled, somehow knowing how to do that like Betty Boop by typing it.

"Oh wait.  I have another call," I said, seeing the call blooper beeping, this
one beeping without sound, me continually perplexed about what sounds worked,
and what ones didn't and when and how?

"OK.  Later.  Seven, tomorrow!"

"Sure things, sis," I said, closing the connection.

The next caller's face came up.  "Good evening Joe.  I saw that you were
interested in our ad ..." a dazzling young lady's face said.  I started to say
something very negative, but like most of those sneaky cold calls, she was fast
on her lips and had almost hypnotic green eyes, not to mention a mouth that
wiggled in ways that had me wondering if I'd seen that right.

"We offer an almost endless array of options, almost all of them free for work
trade, and some you can pay for with less than a half day's wages, for you, Joe. 
Six divorces suggest, by our studies, that you may be entering into an area of
your life where you are seeking something beyond the ordinary, and your bio is
perfect for our longest, most exciting and thus free programs.  No muss, no
fuss; just sign up and we take care of the rest, including contacting interested
parties, and moving you into our system without the slightest effort on your
part.

Warehousing is a dying business with so much automation, Joe.  What will happen
when your privatized Social Security Account is found to be under-funded.  At
46, you've only twenty or so years left before that must be a consideration and
you are inclining towards less than twenty percent of the recommended funds for
even the basics of life.  At the rate of low tech industry erosion, our
computers show far less attractive times for you, Joe, particularly under-funded
for nano-upgrades as you are, Sir.  We can solve all three of these problems,
funding, retirement and the lack of necessary nano-improvements in our shortest
internship.  What we are talking about here is a win-win solution for us, Joe. 
We are, in fact, taking an interest in you, even if others do not, your
Counter-Culture bio has been found to be perfect for several of our internal
programs, and that lady that your sister is interested in coupling you with is
at least a 93% probability of marriage failure; pheromones do not lie.  The end
result is that you will be a more productive member of society, disappoint no
more women, and live your fantasies; all for nothing more than the exchange rate
of one boring lifestyle for another more robust one."

Good goddess, was there anything that they didn't know about me?  Damn, even I
didn't know I even had a pheromone record!

I said, "I really don't know much about this.  There are stories that are less
than flattering about organizations such as yours.  I don't want to get into
anything illegal."

"Oh, it's perfectly legal.  We have certification from the SEC, FBII, The Nancy
Ashcroft Society and are fully disclosing of our participants, all of whom sign
legal wavers of sexual preference, as dictated by the Freedom of Lifestyle Act
of 2031.  The most important thing that distinguishes us as above board is that,
unlike so many of the offshores, we provide both information and visitation to
any relatives, including friends of your choosing in our many resort hotels. 
Some even assist in financing extras; the volunteer rate on this is incredibly
higher than expected, proving how much relatives often find the changes
agreeable."

"I've seen documentaries.  I don't want to end up a being too freaky!"  I told
her.

"You sign up for what you want.  We have a Good Housekeeping seal with 100%
certification that we take our clients through exactly the programs they sign
onto.  I think that you have us confused with the offshores, Joe.  We're an
American Company.  What can be more up and up than that?"

Did I tell you that she had big, wiggling lips that were an odd mixture of
dimples and whatever?  "Do you have a menu of sorts?  Like a list of products? 
Maybe I can do a weekend?"

"Sure.  Or, we can just take your bio as your selection.  We do that with an
amazing ability to target people into the right sub-program for their needs. 
You can't duplicate a bio on a pick sheet.  It has the advantage of being a
little less predictable for the participant too, as opposed to a list that one
has just marked.  I think that most of our submissives like that sort of
spontaneity, though we offer programs for those who are not submissive; people
like voyeurs, Dommes, Doms, addictions is big, well, you know.

"I'm not really ... you know ... all that submissive.  I just play that on SIMS,
mostly.  I might even like something else if you can shoot me a menu?"

"Of course.  It's fantasy.  Quite harmless to non-participants.  All the rage,
and a growing trend.  Some say it's the media, but what do they know?  We try to
keep much of it secret, actually.  We are well aware of the human psychology,
and how it goes overboard.  Why, myself, I'm into rape themes.  Goodness, but
I'd never want to be raped, you see.  In a way, it's not really you that we take
on; it's your alter-ego, so it's OK to be whatever you've always wanted to be
with our service, all without the slightest risk."

Did I tell you that her lips, the way they moved, well, they were a little
confusing?  She was reassuring about the service, and how her company differed,
though.  I mean, no real risk was involved, and I was getting long of tooth for
playing much longer without finding a means of getting my hands on some nano
improvements.  What if I turned sixty and still only had peanuts in my
retirement fund?  Or, goddess forbid I'd lose my warehouse job.  She'd mentioned
that they might help on those levels, and a good nano-upgrade would up my
marriage prospects considerably, meaning the food was better.  What if I needed
my arteries unclogged too?  If my checkup proved bad, (always required by such
establishments) they could fix me up, even if I picked just a weekend thing. 
The hospitals already had me rated class 3 due to my low healthcare payload and
I was constantly rubbing my last few dollars together, come end of pay-period. 
What's that, a hamburger and a Canibacoke?

"We will definitely nanobug you, Joe.  No extra, and all of our patients are
class 5, at least while the transformations are being conducted; you know,
whatever you decide upon."

"Well, what about the list though?  Can you send me one?"

"Sure.  We have over 200 options, and any time frame that you want.  But you
know, the free pass option is really for the bio read option, allowing us a bit
more freedom to place you.  That's what most of our clients go for.  You really
don't have much funding anyway; not that it hurts you here.  We just read your
bio in Counter-Culture and to be frank, you can't do any better than that.  Lots
of our paying clients have told us that the menu approach just isn't nearly as
realistic as the free bio read approach and it shoots hell out of the mystery. 
We have a 67 Craymagnon working up psyches on the bio option that you filled out
long ago, net hits too; while the menu is just a one size fits all sort of
thing; 200 options, but hey, it's like going to the restaurant and picking
something, as opposed to just letting your taste buds tell you what they are
hungry for by looking at the real thing behind a counter."

"So, like the bio thing is free, and the other menu stuff costs?"

She answered, "It's weird, I know, but the best product on our table is the
cheapest and only available for those who sign up right away; an exclusive
offer, you see.  It's just the way it works out.  You know; we're a lot like
headhunters.  We find the best clients for our needs, and do much of it off of
bios.  Think of it like a company.  You are scouted by the company, and they
like what they see, so they go to hire you to fill a need that has just opened
up and won't be there tomorrow; and then you decide that you don't want to be
the finance manager, for which we know you are perfectly suited, but rather, you
decide that you want to be a salesperson.  We can't pay the same for that
because our needs are not as perfectly matched, and besides, you'd be a less
satisfied employee.  Thus, we already know and like your bio, Joe, and if you
pick right off of that today, it's a free ride, healthcare, fantasy, nano
upgrades, class 5 for the time you're in upgrade and all!  Just that simple."

"I suppose there is some logic in that.  A Craymagnon 67, you say?"

"You don't know you like the Cray knows you," she explained, then adding, "And,
it knows us too, which is why we are often very aggressive and willing to defray
the cost, once we find a match.  Saves admin costs as well, the Cray already
having spit you out months ago.  Oh, and did I tell you that upon arrival we'll
be matching you up with a pheromone match?  As a large organization, we have a
large number of greeting professionals, and find it most comfortable for all
when we match our clients at the door."

"Hum.  What if I fall in love with her?"

"If she wants to marry you, hey, fine with us!  Of course, she's meeting
pheromone matches all day, so you can imagine her state."

I went back to an earlier thought, "What did it say?  The Cray?  About me?"

"Can't tell you that.  Company policy.  It's you though Joe.  Right out of your
records and bio; stuff you don't even know about."

"OK, I guess.  Where do I sign?"

"You just did, or at least an intent.  I have that on recording, but I have to
ask one last question.  You'll be signing a legal wavers of sexual preference
declaration, in effect, so we need to be a bit legal here.  The expansion of the
Equal Right's Act protects you, but only if we make things clear."

"OK.  Shoot."

"Here I go.  This is a legalize sentence:  Is that your final answer?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"And, what was that answer?  In your own words, so that we can get a reading
upon your intent that isn't in our words, as outlines in the Contract Signature
Law of 2017, as best proof of signature, Sir."

"Uh ... um ... well, I suppose that I'm agreeing to accepting your companies
services ... um ... as determined by a clear and accurate read of my bio on
Counter-Culture.  You can't do something that isn't me, so to speak."

"The name of the company is FemWorld.  Could you include that for our voice
scanners, Sir?"

"Yes, of course ..." I swallowed.  Female domination was my kink, but I'd only
really played at it with a wife or two for a few minutes at a time.  My bio was
really kinky, and I thought I should maybe go back and read what I'd put in that
thing for my chat channels junk, but they had a Craymagnon 67, and I'm sure they
could read through the junky overblown part of the bio to get to the real me,
especially with all my other records on tap, I was thinking.  I mean, like she'd
said, no woman wants to get raped, and yet it is a big female fantasy.  Cray
could figure that out, I knew, it being designed as a social system integrator
from day one, as she'd suggested.  I'd read up on the machine.  "... I am
entering into a contract with FemWorld for their free service option off of a
reasonable read of my bio and some vacation, with full medical and nano upgrades
of my choice."

"Very good, Sir.  Thank you for choosing FemWorld.  We'll be taking care of
everything from our records.  I had three hundred and seventy-two internet hits
as witness.  Everything seems complete; but let me check."  There was a ten
second pause.  "Exactly.  Again, thank you, and we'll be in touch."

She disappeared from my screen.  In her place was my original login for
Counter-Culture.  Damn, I thought to myself:  I'd just signed on for a fantasy
vacation with the worst spammers on the planet, for me anyway.  Hell if it
helped, a half minute later, another FemWorld spam slipping through; me deleting
it by instinct.

I went back and read my own Counter-Culture bio, and was sort of glad that the
Craymagnon would be tempering that overboard submissive junk with some of my
more mundane records, of which they seemed to have an abundance and regarding
which the Cray had more access than I had, by law.  Some lonely woman from
Counter-Culture binged me for a chat, but I withdrew.  Most of those women
weren't even into being Mistresses, I knew, but men being in short supply .... 
I imagined myself about to get my fill of such stuff as soon as they e-mailed me
about when I was to catch a flight to their closest fantasy motel; me thinking
maybe a week or two from now.  Should I tell my sister and my date tonight? 
Gee, how did they know I had a date tonight?  Hell, I was sort of excited, in
fact, not having the money to go on vacation since my last divorce, and this,
though a bit risqué, was certainly going to be a nice break.

I sat back and reflected, and then realized that the room seemed to be moving
around some.  Those eyes had certainly been hypnotic.

FutureDomme  Chapter2

I got a call seconds later, this being an unusually heavy day already for a guy
who normally only saw one or two sales calls a day.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"  Said my second wife, Florence,
camera off.  She'd actually been the one I'd decided to divorce, other than the
others who'd divorced me, all claiming that I'd been used up and wasn't exciting
anymore.  To Florence, I was exciting, but she had to be the plainest looking
woman on earth, redefining exciting, you see, and ten years my senior.

"I didn't do nothing, and hey, what's this junk about you telling my sister that
I beat on you, spent you blind and of all things, am gay?" I said.  Of course I
knew why.  She was vindictive, a liar, and always about saving face.  There just
simply had to be an excuse for my leaving that wasn't her.

She ignored my question.  "You signed up for FemWorld.  What's wrong with you? 
Are you stupid?  I could have helped.  What kind of trouble are you in?"

She was like a bad mother, all reactive advice.  Damn, I had no idea that they
notified everybody, and fast too!  Who do they tell if it's a paying customer, I
wondered?  I'd not anticipated being outed as another male epidemic victim to
the submissive persuasion, especially to everybody I knew.  This could get
embarrassing - even if it is sort of faddish.

"I'm not in any kind of trouble.  Just thinking about some nano upgrades, maybe
a checkup.  I'm out of money.  I need a vacation, an upgrade, maybe something a
little kinky and fun.  You're loaded; what makes me think you'd understand?  You
never showed an ounce of interest in nanoing me even a bit of youthfulness."

"I could have taken you on if I thought you steady.  Sponsored you an upgrade. 
We could have set up a deal; a year or two for some genetic youthening, maybe a
point or two for your pension fund.  You could have just done the gardening;
this property is enormous!"

"I can't offer myself out like that.  What kind of guy do you think I am?  A
gigolo?"

"You're a man; what does it matter?"

"That's kind of a sexist thing to say, isn't it?  Use em and lose em.  Women are
starting to be all the same."

"Watch that tongue, boy.  Shoot, Joe, you've signed up with FemWorld.  If it's
sexism you're worried about, you have a strange way of showing it; and besides,
they have a terrible reputation.  I should think being a gigolo would be a step
up!  At least it's with someone who wants you for more than the company's bottom
line."

"You don't know what you're talking about.  They have the highest SEC, FBII and
Good Housekeeping certification.  It's a local company.  Don't lump them in with
the offshores," I informed.

"Local and international and sheltered by every Senator in Congress.  The
surprise is that they've managed to keep how big an operation they are from the
male public by putting fear into the eyes of the media they advertise so heavily
in."  She paused, and then sighed, "It's just a shame.  I'm so disappointed with
you, Joe."

"I don't think it's much to ask for just a vacation."

"I'll see what I can do to get you out of it," she said flatly, as if it meant
the world to her for some reason.  I wasn't good enough to put out enough to
stay married to, but in two minutes time she'd offered me both a job and a
bailout from a measly vacation, as if running my life was still on the books.

My monitor lit up with several incoming calls, all at once.  Damn, but the whole
world was calling me, including three more former wives, and my sister again.

I cut the conversation short, and put the wives on "No Answer!"  Picking up my
sister's call, I was surprised by my computer giving me one of my ex-wives
instead, the damned glitchy Windows again!

"Why didn't you tell me that you could be this exciting, Joe?  Do you have any
idea the chores around here that can use a man slave's work?  I'll have to beat
FemWorld's price now.  Don't think you're worth it though!"  She hung up, having
gotten her funny little point across, and never really very sociable anyway.  Of
course, she had no intention of doing any such thing as her ludicrous offer. 
She and I were not on good terms, and the idea of that ex-wife spending a penny
on me to keep around, even as a butler, was laughable.  Funny thing is though, I
couldn't remember if it had been Sharon's or Paula's voice?  They both had odd
Ids and the same caustic style and the same penchant for phoning and then saying
their piece, followed by a hang-up, usually without even knowing for sure if I
was on the other end.

My grandmother was calling me.  I pushed the icon saying, "Not home."  Then my
bowling team and co-workers started in on me.  I couldn't imagine speaking to
any of them again, my reputation ruined by FemWorld's policy of telling a lot
more people a lot more details than I'd even imagined.

I got an automatic update from the Tax Service that my bank account had been
billed for the portion of my taxes that would have been due if all I made for
the rest of the year was what I'd made up to that moment in time.  Damn, my
taxes were screwed up - just for a vacation.  Then I got an e-mail from my boss
at work.  It read:

Dear Joe Anderson:

Thanks for tendering your resignation.  We were in process of seeking three
names for lay-off, and though your seniority would have saved you this cut, you
should have the pride in knowing that you have saved a fellow employee from a
similar fate.  We all hope you the best of luck with your new employment at
FemWorld.  If you should need a reference, please contact our office.

It was signed.  Mostly a form letter, I understood.

I tried to call my employer to tell her that I'd only signed up for a vacation,
to which I had plenty of time, but I couldn't get through.  Then I tried to
click up the company sight, thinking I could get an e-mail through, but realized
that I'd been cut off from the web.  Even my sister's call was gone from the
screen, and considering the rate of calls I'd gotten in a frantic, the blankness
of my computer, left to its own programs and cut off from the world, was sort of
numbing.

The computer blinked a few times, and then a screen came up that read,
"Uploading all reusable program files ... uploading all history files ...
deleting all personal files ... securing operating system for fresh user and
as-new logon."

Damn if someone wasn't hacking in and stealing all of my software!  I was
banging keys, but the thing just kept on dropping icons at lightning speed until
I had the old 'Windows 2044 PMS' screen, the one that I'd last seen right after
taking the thing out of the box two years ago.  I hit enter, and the screen
changed, saying, "Welcome to the Win 2044 environment.  Please enter your new
user access code or the serial number on your operating system disk!"  I went
behind the computer, and pulled the high speed access jack.  Then I got my
original operating disk out, and upon finding the numbers, typed mine in.  The
computer read:

"Sorry.  A manufacturer code is necessary in order to revive your computer.  The
Win 2044 serial number provided is no longer functional.  This may signal a
security violation.  Please call for a new user access code.

I had an old phone in the bedroom of my two room house, and thus, finding it
under a pillow, picked it up, discovering a dead dialtone.  That left the old
non-terminal TV in my bedroom.  I clicked it on, but there was only one channel
on the regular airwaves, and it was the dating game, telling me that they'd
jacked my TV cable as well.  The dating game was silly - I'd seen my fill of
lesbian shows.

Shit!

As if in response, there was a knock on the door.  "As if phone calls aren't
enough," I moaned, putting on a fresh pair of shorts and a sweatshirt.

"Joe Anderson?  267-87-20025?"  A woman asked, looking up from her clipboard,
sporting some antique glasses (they used them mainly as jewelry meant to imply
intellectualism).  She was a few overweight, nothing a pill or two couldn't deal
with in a week.  Maybe thirty, dark hair, up in a working bun, and like I said,
wanting to look studious.  "I'm Gloria Sanders.  Here to help you make your
first step as an associate with FemWorld."  She held out her hand, which I
nervously shook, she adding, "Do you have an extra key for the door; they never
make one for the appraiser?"

"The ... the ... this door?  My house?"

"I wouldn't ask if it didn't make things much easier.  They do think of
everything, but not nearly enough keys for everything.  Well, if it's too much
trouble, we can work around it," she said, as if dismissing the thought.

"I think there's a mistake.  I'll not be moving; it's just a vacation."

"Oh.  I'll have that checked then."

"Is this like my ride to the vacation motel?" I asked.

She'd checked her portable phone-link on the fly and said, "Oh, that's right; we
just need someone to look after things.  That's why the key."  It seemed
important to her, and she did have a clipboard, so I knew she knew what she was
doing, and went to the counter for the spare house key.

"It's going to be looked after by someone reliable, I hope," I said, not that I
owned much.

"You have my complete assurance that nothing will be stolen from its owner. 
They'll even make the computer fresh," she assured me, me wondering how she knew
about that, but then remembering the Cray, it apparently all it was cracked up
to be, only having gone a bit overboard for me.  One of its best features, it
seemed, was in keeping everyone but me informed; about par for my computer
experience.

I complained, "They seem to have gotten me confused right off.  I signed up for
a vacation, and my computer has died, my boss has fired me and I have eight
women on my ass about leaving town, not counting my grandmothers.  Is there any
way that we can get all of that adjusted before it gets too far out of hand?"

"Oh, certainly, Sir.  Everything will be set perfectly right.  This kind of
confusion happens all of the time.  There is really a bit of a company squabble
on this very thing?  Do you have some shoes?  No, no bag; just as you are.  We
provide all of the clothing  you will need; part of the deal.  Oh, as I was
saying, there are those who think we should be more careful about going off
right away and telling everyone about some sort of transfer.  I mean, what if
there is a mistake or someone panics?  Could happen, you know."

"Yeah, could indeed.  Look at me," I said, rather severely, as she led me out to
her van that was parked on the street.

"Exactly.  I do feel very sorry for your situation," she said as I started to
open the passenger door.

"Oh, but Sir, we can't have the clients up front.  Insurance, and besides, not
professional.  We don't know you yet, is the word.  Treat everyone the same;
even the nice ones, and play the lonely chauffeur.  For security reasons, we
have all of our new clients sit in back.  Watch your head."  She slid the side
van door open, all of the windows blackened, and thus, the interior new to me. 
There was a long seat, within which a younger guy sat, him all the way over. 
His face reddened as he saw me, a deep blush, as I assumed mine was as well.  I
mean, we both were signed on for a female dominant vacation, so it was a bit
awkward, as I jumped in and let the seat and shoulder harness engage me fully. 
The door slammed, and in a half minute the van started up.  I remembered that
I'd not seen her close the front door to my tiny house, nor had I seen anyone
with her.  What if someone just walked in and stole my mess and busted computer? 
It wasn't much, but it was all that I had.

I looked out the window, and realized that they weren't black windows at all,
but were, instead, the New View Windows that were all the rage, simulating
scenery.  They could be made to work both ways; people looking in could see what
looked like normal passengers; grandma with a wheelchair, kids on the way to The
Right Youth League.  From the inside, the windows started off as if showing my
house and neighborhood, but as we moved off, became landscapes that were hundred
of miles away from my familiar city.  And, some of the landscapes weren't all
that bad, I thought, deciding to enjoy the scenery.  Up front, a small regular
window allowed me a view of Gloria Sander's head, it not at all unattractive, to
the point where I was pretty sure that she'd had lots of nano upgrades, all of
them pretty good takes.

After awhile I said, "I'm Joe.  Thought it might be a good way to get my health
insurance upgraded.  You know, maybe a nano upgrade, and a bit of an assist,
should I be about to fall apart.  What you in for?"

He looked at me like I'd slapped him, but then said, "The bio thing.  Free.  I
could have paid for something else, but I just thought it would be fun to see
what they come up with.  I dread it actually; did it in the spur of pre-orgasmic
stupidity.  It's odd ..."  He had a look on his face that said he was lying,
even a bit afraid, thus the pause.

"What's odd?"  I asked.

"Nothing.  Just that the van came kind of faster than I'd thought, and I think
my refrigerator is going to be a mess.  Electric went out at just the wrong
moment and I didn't get a chance to call it in."

Probably a really masochistic, unemployed sort, I gathered, keeping it short
because he felt it as embarrassing as me that he'd been caught a masochist,
still, after all these years and the liberty to seek ones own slave impulses as
a part of the anti-discrimination laws, not the sort of thing one likes
advertised.  I could relate, my bio being about ten sheets to the wind further
than I really was, as well, and not the sort of thing I really wanted to
experience, much less chat about.  I tried to reassure him.  "Well, bloody hell. 
Just a spot of fun and games."

"Yeah,  I had some appliance problems to look into too; besides the electric,"
he continued, though shakily.

"Gloria there told me that they mess that up all the time.  She looked me right
up and said someone would be over to fix it.  Maybe you should let her know; the
Cray seems crabby today," I advised.  He nodded and shrugged.

We were on the road an hour.  I looked in on the driver, but she wasn't into us,
not once giving us a glance from the other side of the separating glass, as if
we were cargo, and all in a day's work.  The glass in front was Polaroid or
something, me unable to make out much beyond the front cab other than her turns
and long lengths on the superway.  I went back to prying my partner.  "I had a
great sales girl.  Green eyes, lips like ... well, I don't know what they were
like.  Fact is, I kind of got to hating the spam these people threw at me; sort
of surprised that I signed on so quickly.  Shoot, I'm not even much into the
kink; it being more of a hobby to me than a vice.  You know, it's not popular to
be into tying up women these days, so one has to compensate.  Well, anyway, I do
need an upgrade and a checkup; prices being what they are."

"Yeah.  I figure they'll get past the bull-shit in my bio," he said defensively.

The van stopped, and I heard the front door opening up.  Looking through the
front window, the lady seemed to just be sitting in her seat, the door closed,
all very confusing, but then I felt the front of the van shifting, and then
heard the front door closing again, all while I was watching her just sitting
there, and it struck me that the front window I'd assumed to be a window into
the front seat was also that freakin New View Window stuff.  I'd been a fool for
over an hour, and for all I knew, we'd just changed drivers, the illusion maybe
not even the same body?

The van started up again, and went up an incline, metal grating clanking under
our wheels.  The man beside me shuddered, him all scared to death and wimpy for
some reason.  I mean, what could they do?  They had a business to keep track of;
and everybody knows that unsatisfied customers never give repeat business. 
They'd have a way to make it all interesting and fun, even in a femdom context,
so that we'd want to come back, I reasoned.  One thing for sure; it wasn't going
to be any fun if I let it get to me.  The van stopped, and then we waited. 
After awhile, we started moving, sort of, it more of a rocking feeling.  "We
must be on a boat?"  I told the man beside me.  He nodded, and time went by, at
which point we seemed to have docked, and the van went up another grate, circled
some kind of lot, and parked.  This time the New View showed the lady getting
out, it maybe the truth, and maybe just a mirror of the truth.

The boat trip was short, us in the van for two or three hours, I was thinking,
and then the door to the van opened up.  There in front of us was the same woman
who'd put us in a few hours ago.  "Sorry; the trip took longer than I expected. 
Do you have to use the facilities?"

"Yes," we both said in unison.

"Just this way," she offered, us dropping down into a portable room that had a
ceiling, three walls and our van as borders.  I closed the door behind us.  On
an adjacent wall was an odd metal trash container with a lid that flipped up
with a footswitch.  Up above was a metal mesh sporting a pair of shower heads
that matched a single drain in the concrete floor that extended under the open
bottom of the van.  On the far wall was a small blackened window inset into a
door.  The thing sealed against the van with an inch or two to spare, and a few
seams at spots around the bottom, telling me that it was a temporary enclosure
that they dropped anywhere they wanted, probably; in this case, beside our van.

"I'm going into the next room, and will give you your instructions.  Before I do
that, you should put this mask on your head.  It's to protect you from your
shower.  We shower all visitors to make sure they have no skin diseases such as
lice.  The chemicals can be irritants and burn the hell out of your eyes and
ears.  Lots of strangers come here, and before the doctors can give you a
look-over, they insist upon clean bodies.  There you go.  Yes, just like a gas
mask, only it fits over your hair as well and the rubber is a special alloy that
resists wear and yet seals perfectly if you seal the airways and blow to check
for tightness.  Good job, boys."

We were aliens, I was thinking.

"One more thing in there.  Down at the bottom," she said.  We found a couple of
patches, triangular, and each took one.

"Peal off the back, and place the adhesive side right above your penis, narrow
point down, as if aiming at the thing.  Then we can ..."

We reached into our pants and put the patches on, them sticking with a goo
rather better than expected, right through the pubic hair.  If it dried, I'd be
ripping hair when I took that off, I thought.  All the while, the lady kept
explaining things that we could both plainly see, as if we weren't scrounging in
our pants like pubescents fixing our equipment.  I'd gotten kind of used to
going with the flow, but as I reached in, it struck me that we were doing
something truly silly.  My fellow traveler didn't match my silly smile (he was a
stick in the mud) at the realization that she'd just had us both doing something
truly humiliating, as if for a functional reason that had gotten us doing it
without thinking before we were in action.  She'd done it without pause, as
well, apparently not a real dominatrix, but rather, just someone doing her
script.

"... best for everyone if we are all clean, don't you think," she said before
opening the little door and disappearing behind the blackened window.

We stood there gawking at one another through the great froglike lenses of our
protective masks.  Sealed in, our own breathing hissing in our ears, which were
as covered as your faces, leaving only our necks exposed around the tight
straps.  "Now, I want you to each take off your clothing, one at a time, and set
the things into the protective metal receptacle that is located by the wall."

My buddy hesitated, so I shrugged, thinking being made naked was certainly going
to be part of any submissive scene vacation anyway, once we got to where we were
going.  I mean, the woman in charge of us had been nice and polite, and thus, a
sign that she was just a driver, and that we'd not yet gotten to the real
program; that made it feel truly strange, but all she was going to do was see
our swinging dicks and it seemed that she did this all of the time, so it was
kind of like disrobing for a doctor, I convinced myself, stepping out of my
shoes and shirt.  My pants were the last to go, me unbuckling them, and thinking
about what I should do with my wallet, but then imagining it best protected
along with my clothing.  I dropped my things into the metal container, letting
the lid drop.  I was naked, and put my hands over my dick modestly, returning to
a sideways stance to the window and shrugging at the other man who seem a bit
mortified at the prospect of undressing.  Baby, I thought to call him - choosing
not to.

"Come along.  We'll be at this as long as it takes," said the woman, her voice
coming out of an overhead speaker.

I coaxed him, he still hesitant, "Jeezz man, it's not like nobody's every seen a
dick before."

That got him into motion, and soon his own clothing was in the canister, him
taking the time to fold them neatly; Mister fastidious.  He faced away from me
and the door.  I noticed that only his face was red, an odd observation.  I
wasn't about to look at his prick, but my periphery noticed less than a handful.

"Good.  Now, you can do your business at any time.  I suggest that you do so as
you shower.  Any waste will be dissolved by waste eating bacteria in the
chemicals in the water; an agent for such work included.  If you don't take
advantage of this at this time, we can't promise another chance for some time,
processing for you about to begin and rather lengthy.  This will include, of
course, our doctor's anal examination, through which the doctor will be
displeased if she finds your anus uncleansed.  Sorry to be so blunt and rude
about it, but it is policy, and I promise to not watch while the shower is on."

"Can't we just have access to a facility," the man beside me said, but he got no
answer other than the water turned on over our heads.  It wasn't actually warm,
more cool, as it drenched us both with the smell of alcohol and other hospital
aromas.  At first the water was orange.

"There are two more minutes before the rinse.  Please expel all wastes at this
time; do not hesitate.  Rinse both underarms thoroughly, and ensure that the
water has access to under your foreskin; I can see that both of you are
uncircumcised.  Please, gentlemen; if this isn't done correctly, it will need to
be repeated and as time goes on, the chemicals tend to sting," advised the
speaker, telling me that she'd lied about not watching.

It wasn't a pleasant thought, but I dreaded the idea of a female doctor looking
up my poop shoot with something in there, so I pulled my feet apart, crouched a
bit, and aimed my butt away from both the other man and door, and while sticking
as close to the drain as I could, let out the first standing crap in my life.  I
felt some worm its way down my leg, but then felt the water dissolving it before
it hit the floor like the rest of it had.  Looking down, the crap had already
dwindled to the size of a few kernels, a few bits of corn the last to go.  She
wasn't kidding, the water probably worth a week's wages.  Then I thought to
rinse my underarms, and turning away again, I wiggled my foreskin, sloshing some
of the orange (and partially blinding) water up there.  I came away with a
handful of hair.  Wiping away a spot on my goggles, as I looked down, I saw the
hair dissolve in my hand like a magical act.  I rubbed the now clear hand
against my arm, and as the orange slid away, I saw myself pink.  The chemicals
were really something, I understood, me not wanting two of these increasingly
stinging affairs, I thought.

"One minute more before rinse.  I suggest a stronger showing, Mister Wilson,"
the speaker told the man beside me.  I looked at him, and he was cowering, down
on his toes, knees and waist bent as far as he could go, and about three feet
tall as he sought to protect himself like a turtle, all bent over fetus-like.

"Get up, man.  You need to comply, or they'll do us again.  My skin feels raw
already.  Don't be such a shit!"

I think I heard him whimper.  It struck me that my fantasy was about acting like
a wimp in front of a gorgeous and assertive model.  His was about being all that
he could be, which wasn't much.  I kicked him when it got down to thirty
seconds.  "Christ man, take a shit and rub the juice on, or I'll put my hand up
your ass and do it for you!"

He gave me a glare, but then put his head back down between his legs.

"Hey, look.  I'll turn away.  No, I'll go up by the window, stand in front of it
and block the view while I turn away.  Nobody wants to watch you take a dump. 
We're going to be here all day, if you don't."  I walked up to the window, and
put my head up to it, knowing that it didn't block it all, but hoping to
reassure the bastard as I drew attention to myself to whomever might be on the
other side; not a good thing judging from all the femdom literature I'd read,
but hey, it was just Gloria.

I heard him groan, and then glanced back.  He was still crouched, but more like
he was attempting to do something foul.  I looked away, least he see me checking
and get a cramp.  Then, the orange shower fluid stopped, and something that
smelled like a rose garden descended.  That was clear, but so strongly perfumed
that I thought I'd puke.  I backed up to where I'd originally stood, and the
other guy had stood up as well.  His mask was foggy with tears; such the pussy. 
The perfume stopped, replaced by warm water.  I looked at the floor, and his
dump was still half there, water wasting it away a little, but not enough to
make a difference since the orange stuff had been the ticket, and it was no
longer in the pipes.

"Expose the underarms, please?"  Came the command.  I held my arms up and a
little bit of orange fluid was instantly washed away in the rinse.  Damn if I'd
lost my underarm hair as well.  I let one hand touch my head in back,
discovering that I was bald right up to the new, high hairline and as smooth as
a baby's butt down from there.  My partner's underarms were still hairy. 
"Sorry, gentlemen.  We'll need to do this once more.  Please follow
instructions, and allow access to all parts of your body for each stage of the
shower.  Any waste that still needs expelled, should be offered at this time,
and as early in the process as possible.  Now, let's resume," explained our
driver and attendant.

The orange stuff started over, the man beside me wailing from the not
inconsiderable sting.  I hurt too, but I was the only grownup, it seemed.  He
got to dancing around, almost slipping on his own shit, but it quickly
dissolving enough to allow a steadier footing on the man's second try.  "Shit
again, if you can, buddy, and don't forget your underarms and dick.  We do this
a third time, and I'm going to wash you myself!"  I threatened.  He tried to
ignore me, but I put myself in his face and clinched a fist.  That got him
going, even peeing some, though the blinding orange shower made it hard to tell
for sure.

When the perfume started, I was more concentrated, making sure it got
everywhere, least I open up my armpit and orange stuff fall out again like it
did last time.  Then the rinse, and then we two pink guys were done.  I dripped
awhile, and then walked over to the metal bin, and hit the footswitch.  It was
full of dark fluid, I noticed, though draining fast, all to my surprise.  I
thought about my wallet first, but then as the water went down, me seeing
nothing more than some belt buckles and shoe eyelets, it hit me that there was a
small opening in the top side of the canister, along with a drain below, and
whatever had gone into it had literally dissolved our clothing down to a few
metal trinkets.  A few wisps of acidic smoke lingered at the bottom of the
canister, the excellent shower ventilation system reducing even that to clear.

"Peel off the triangular patch above your cocks, gentlemen, and place them on
the floor.  Don't bother with the clothing.  We provide all new clothing for our
clients."

That drew the other guy's attention, him too looking into the canister.  "My
things!  What about my wallet?"

"Everything is provided.  We have an entirely new wardrobe, and all personal
effect will be issued to you; the Cray has knowledge of all necessary personal
items and licenses.  Please, remove the patch and remain calm; this has been
considered, and I assure you that we will be more than pleased by the results,
in spite of the apparent setbacks.  You will have to trust my instructions
before we can proceed.  I'll need both of you calm and beside the drain, facing
the door.  Take off your protective masks and set them just in front of the
drain.  Please gentlemen," explained the speaker.

I'd already taken my patch off, but the other man seemed stunned until I pointed
to it and he gingerly ripped it away, the slowness of it hurting more than it
would have if he'd have just ripped hair.  I had bigger problems than ripping a
few hairs where I seemed to only be allowed to have it, other than on my head.

"Well hell.  The wallets are toast.  My national ID, driver's license, cash
cards; pictures of six wives; what a mess.  They seem to have all our records
though, so maybe that's part of the new wardrobe as well.  Might as well move
along, in any event, buddy," I told my fellow traveler.  He didn't seem the
practical fellow, not looking all that convinced as I took my naked foot off the
button and the bucket lid dropped.

We moved our naked butts to our places beside the drain, already half dripped
dry.  We tossed our protective masks by the drain.  Unmasked, we both caught our
own smells, that of a pair of sunburned French whores trying way too hard to
smell of cheap perfume.

FutureDomme  Chapter3

Behind us, the side door to the van suddenly opened with a start, us expecting
to be hustled through the enclosure door.  In the middle of the long seat were a
pair of handcuffs.  So, this is where it gets interesting, I thought, seeing the
hardware.

We shrugged, me more than him, and got in, finding our seats a second time.  The
seat belt assembly locked around our chests.  Our driver walked through the
shower area, handing each of us a towel and a two ounce tube of cream.

"We will need to get rid of any beards, mustaches and stubble as well, for the
doctor, I'm afraid.  Leave the eyebrows, but rid yourself of any eyebrow
bridges.  This is similar to the shower, only it smells nicer and once toweled
off, leaves no smell or tackiness.  Keep it on for two minutes, and check each
other so you don't miss anything.  Then, once you are sure there isn't any more
hair on your faces, towel it off.  You can do it twice, but we don't want to do
these things twice."

She looked at Mister Wilson sternly, but then looked back to me and winked as if
being a bit naughty.  Hum.  Cute girl; make a nice seventh wife, I thought
before she went on.  "You can toss the towels and tubes in back of your seats
when you've finished.  Then, of course, we get to play a little; what you signed
up for, I suppose.  Once you're done with the facial hair removal cream, you can
cuff yourselves behind the back.  Not too tight, or you'll cut off the
circulation.  Of course, you can wait until we arrive at our next stop to have
someone cuff you for you, but I don't advise it; the facility starts off a bit
more strict than I like it; you know, kind of like basic training for the
military; shock effect.  Some guys break down, I think because they've not been
forewarned and because they're not into the kink at all, I'm guessing."  Again,
she smiled and winked at me; definitely a player, I understood.  "If you just
play along it will be easy as pie, and then you just settle in for some fun.  I
can see that you, Mister Wilson, will particularly want to make it as easy as
possible."  She shut the door on us without answering the questions I was
forming, as if her warning to my partner was the final punctuation.

OK, so here we go, I thought as I smoothed some cream over my face and what
remained of my sideburns.  Butterflies were in my stomach about the impending
vacation fantasy.  I hoped the motel was nice; myself already a bit tired from
all the travel and coping with Wilson's freaking out.  I would like it a lot
better if I could check things out, I thought, and if I wasn't so tired, I
realized, hoping the vacation picked up.  So far it had been a bit of a bummer,
always traveling in secret with Mister Bashful and with all the problems with
things getting turned off at home still worrying me and now with the de-hairing
thing, which I felt was a bit too long lasting for my tastes and apt to itch
like hell when it all grew back.  The pussy patch was plain ridiculous.  Seemed
a bit much for just a vacation, I figured, but they did say that the doctor
insisted upon clean people, and we do know how revered doctors are, them being
the owners of most of our institutions these days.

I heard the enclosure being lifted away from the side of the van - very
organized, these ladies.  Then the van started up, even Wilson getting a clue
and smearing his face by then.  I decided to ask him to check for coverage,
which he managed to do without weeping.  A few minutes later the van had cleared
the ferry and was moving along nicely on some kind of super highway, and we were
toweling off.  Smooth faced, we cuffed ourselves behind our backs, each making
sure the other wasn't too tight, and then settled in for what was a surprisingly
long hour of driving.  For all I knew, we could have driven two states over, or
even to Canada by now, I mused, as we stopped and I heard some gates being
opened.  I should have at least asked where the vacation was going to be.

I was sweating like a pig, unable to open up my pits with the cuffs on, but of
course, with all the perfume on me, not in need of anything to cover the smell
there.  The van came to lots of jolts and short moves, as if we were in some
sort of line, and then the door opened and we were staring out at a brick wall
with a yawning metal door.  The seat belt device having swung clear, we both got
out, awkward with our hands chained behind us and being naked as jaybirds.

The pavement under our feet was strangely course; old world brickish.  Beside
the door were two burly looking women, Gloria having apparently vanished.  Up
front and behind our van, other vans sat, the ones behind unloading into their
own metal doors, and the one directly in front of us doing the same.  This must
be delivery time, I realized, the operation seemingly huge and suddenly
efficient.  Beyond the front and back, more walls and my first glance of barbed
wire over the tops of the two buildings blocking my view of anything else.

They hustled us inside with stun guns as prods, me very much displeased with the
hardware; it seemingly inappropriate for a vacation.  Stun guns have been known
to hurt men with bad hearts, you see.  Once in, the metal door clamped shut with
the two guards on the other side of it.

The room was small, brick, and from what I'd seen outside, one of many that must
be running parallel to the face wall I'd seen others being unloaded into, each
about as wide as the vans that loaded them.  Four parallel plastic seats were
bolted into the floor and a monitor was in front of that, it chained to the
wall.  Beside the monitor was another metal door.  I tried the door by twisting
around with my cuffed hands, but it was as locked as the one to our backs.  The
whole thing reminded me of an experience I'd once had at DisneyFutureWorld,
where everyone was hustled into parallel rooms so that they could load each row
of seats more efficiently when the caterpillar of seats stopped in the tracks
just opposite the door.  Maybe FemWorld was like that, a big ride experience,
sort of a funhouse?

Then the monitor clicked on and a new woman's face appeared, it too delightfully
pleasant to the eyes to be real, and yet it seemed like a real woman, she
sitting on an ornate chair in some sort of pastoral field.  Birds chirped
sweetly.

"Gentlemen, I am so pleased to be able to greet you upon your arrival at the
most exciting fantasy experience every promoted to the general public.  FemWorld
salutes you upon your choice of adventures.  Before I go on, please feel free to
find a seat and get comfortable for this presentation which, though brief, is
still designed as a rest between more stressful parts of the indoctrination.  We
are very interested in maintaining your health throughout."

We both sat down in plastic chairs, each a seat apart.

"I'm sure that by now you have many questions.  The answers can be summed up by
saying that at FemWorld, every imaginable fantasy is fulfilled for us and part
of that is the wonder of your surrendering to the many surprises awaiting you. 
We hope to achieve the very best result from you, as you from us, and an open
mind is all that we require as we step you into our program.  We are so sure of
our product that we are showing a 100 percent retention rate upon old customers
in the free program; truly a testament to the power of our female domination
program's thoroughly researched techniques.

In the process, of course, as volunteers into our free program, you will be
challenged to do some work study assignments along the way, but certainly not
anything beyond the sort of labor one would expect from a male slave in need of
a firm female hand.  Oops!  I'm such a tease.  Are your little penises trembling
with expectation?"  She laughed, a giddy little girl sort of laugh that belied
her middle age, but I found the playfulness comforting, while imagining the
claims a bit overboard.

The camera panned back and we both noticed the head of a man nudging up from
under the long, pleated, formal-grey skirt of the seated lady making the
presentation.  We could see no further down.  Her hand patted her skirt where
the head slowly bobbed, making my penis rise, I can tell you that.

In the background, a couple of men walked by in the background.  They wore what
looked like black thongs, but they were too far away for me to tell for sure. 
Each had a tray in hand, liquid refreshments on each, and as they moved across
on tender feet, behind the speaker from left to right, a much younger Mistress
came into view.  She had a little crop in her hand, she whisking it from side to
side - almost a playful gesture.  One of the men looked back with a smile.  We
could hear the distant Mistress saying, "Oh, please, George.  Don't doddle;
least not until we get to my roommate's cottage!  Can't be all fun and no work
as you go, can it?"  She tapped him on the knee playfully, and he scooted
forward with a laugh.  Mister Wilson, beside me, sat up in his seat, a new face
of expectation upon his mug instantly having grown.

"We will start things off with some formalities.  Many of you are aware that we
start you off at class 5 health care allowances while under our care, and insist
upon a full examination by our staff doctors.  Any health issues will be
instantly dealt with, including any determined nano-upgrades that can be
prescribed out-patient, just as promised.  Then, with your records complete, you
will meet with your pheromone matched counselor who will marry you up with the
perfect program for our needs and then the appropriate orientation counselor
will welcome you in person to our female dominant wonderland.  We do have all
the paperwork needed to place you immediately, but we've found much more
satisfying results by being able to insert a face to face official signing
ceremony with your pheromone match.  In fact, most of our men have shown
remarkable interest in their pheromone matched counselors as mates, and there is
no harm in asking, not a one of them with a husband because as soon as they
marry, they are reassigned.  That's a FemWorld requirement, in fact; that none
of our counselors have yet to find their man, but with so many available ...."

The camera panned in, we losing the bobbing head.

"Oh, I can see the interest peaking.  Yes, many a woman has found happiness at
FemWorld.  While women find the place charming, men find it the fulfillment of a
lifetime of submissive thoughts.  So, hang on for the ride, and when the doctor
is free, the door in front of you will open and you'll be taking your first step
into our world of female control and the fulfillment of our fantasy, starting
with all the free medical upgrades your little body can stand, just to prove our
sincerity at delivering a service that will change your world."

The music swelled, and then the monitor went blank.  I had been nearly
hyperventilating, and had to take a few slower breaths.  Mister Wilson had his
legs squeezed tight around his dick, making humping motions, as if trying to
masturbate secretly and with his hands behind his back.  He noticed me looking
over and feigned a cramp.

We sat there, imagining the place with a newfound thrill bubbling up within us,
but time passed slowly, and when the door didn't open, we grew restless, soon
taking to standing and walking around the chairs; a couple of chimpanzees in a
box.  Finally, the door opened, and the words, "Mister Wilson," came out of the
seemingly dead monitor's speaker port.  I shrugged a gesture of good luck to him
as he gave me a smug look back that said he was luckier than me to be going
first, and by goddess, I believed that he was.  Then, after awhile, it opened
for me and I went into the hallway.

"Mister Anderson.  Report to room 152, please," sounded in the hallway.  A
couple of other men were reporting from other doorways, and a few leaving what I
imagined were the examination rooms in several long connecting hallways.  Little
signs read, '001-050', '051-101', etc..  As soon as I got to 152, the door
sensed me and clicked opened a couple of inches, as if knowing I had my hands
cuffed behind me.  I hit it easily with my nose, springing the door the rest of
the way and stepped into the examination room.

A little sign said, 'Sit on the bed and wait, please.'  Hurry up and wait, just
like the Army, I thought, as I sat down on the paper covered examination bed and
awaited my free medical, thinking I'd just won the healthcare lottery.

FutureDomme  Chapter4

The doctor was younger than I'd expected, maybe even an intern out of grad
school, but she had that professional air of a made young lady who was being
paid those big bucks right off the bat and she wasted no time running my blood
and putting it into the 'InstaDiag' reader.  She had a way expensive
compu-clipboard at hand, it recording every word as well as spelling out me. 
Apparently both the clipboard and she knew all about me and nothing about me at
the same time, as we've come to expect from doctors who could afford no more
than two or three minutes per patient.  Well, she gave me a good five, and
boosted me with three air-gun shots before she as much as told me what she was
doing.  Needless to say, being examined and injected while still cuffed behind
the back was a unique experience, "Some of our newest strains were on your
horizon, Mister Anderson, but we've sent in blockers.  It's a good thing you
signed up or you'd have certainly keeled over from heart by the age of ninety
and herpies variant seven was probably yet to be contracted well before that; no
cure for at least a year on that, should you have gotten it.  We've fixed all of
that, so it's good that you signed up; arteries cleaned up with Vienasco; apt to
live a ripe old hundred and thirty, minimum now, assuming it's your choice."

"Choice?"  I asked.

"Life clause ... never mind, it's in the orientation.  I've also given the
prescribed nanos that Cray generously determined were yours.  Only be a matter
of time for those, as you know, and half the fun is seeing the progress.  Be
about two months to full ripening, so don't judges things until then because
nanos can be ugly when the duckling is still growing," she added, patting my
knee and pretending a quick smile.

"Prescribed?  What are you talking about?"

"The bio.  Don't look shocked, Mister Anderson; we are professionals; wouldn't
do a thing without your request.  That's where the bio helps so much; saves you
making the asking.  We know so much about you, and efficiency is the key to
quality healthcare in America."

"Whatever happened to the hypocritical oath being the key?"

"Was that an insult, Mister Anderson?"  She, half my age, said sternly, a
complete about-face look to her from the all-business stand a second earlier.

"Just a joke.  I'm sorry.  Yes, my bio.  Very efficient, though a lot of it was
just fantasy; you know, playing around," I mused, thinking I'd get the lowdown
by reading my medical records online later.

She still seemed a bit pissed about my oath comment though and wrote something
onto my chart.  She could have spoken it, but apparently wished to keep a secret
by writing it.  But, like I implied, the Third Patient Bill of Rights bill told
me that I'd be able to read what she wrote when I got next to a computer, so I
doubly had that to look forward to.

"One more shot, and we're all set," said the doctor, her voice not soothing like
before, but at least professional.  "Bend over.  This one's special; have to see
that it absorbs slowly; in the ass, you see."

I bent over, and she took an ancient looking hypo, wiped some alcohol on my ass
cheek and stuck me like a pig in a place they rarely stuck anymore.  I didn't
think anybody did that needle in the ass barbarism, and here I was getting it
done to me.  It was quite painful until she took the needle out.

"There.  That'll fix your attit ... I mean, needs as per line seventeen on your
bio; just a dabble in your bio to that effect, I see, but just a phase is enough
to cover; been looking for candidates for the study today, and the day gets
short.  Special program; you're lucky day, boy.  You didn't know that we had a
nano for comedians, did you, Mister Anderson?  You'll have to take up satire
after that one."

"What did you shoot me with, ma'am?"

"Don't worry, I was just kidding about comedians.  You'll still have a sense of
humor, should you find it later; and goddess knows you'll probably need it right
away."

"Is it an enhancer?  You know, I seem to recall that as just a crazy thing I was
web-zoned on one day from my bio?  I'm not sure if I can handle fifteen inches
of dick for real, so consider the satisfied customer, Ma'am,"  I asked,
wondering how much they could do to me based upon some bad choices in filling
out a personal ad in a fantasy chat-line or from simple curiosity web serfing?"

"Most definitely to all questions, but let's be real; do I look like a person
who'd give you fifteen inches of penis?  I'm a professional, Mister Anderson. 
I'd not give you a placebo, nor something out of character for a man of your ...
stature; that unethical since 2023.  Good day," she said, leaving me alone in
the room to dress.  Only ... there were no clothes, and the intercom told me to
go to room 211, still buck naked and chained.  Mostly I was wondering what both
questions had been, and where any of that interview had left me.  Mostly, it
left me troubled, I thought, stomach churning.

It seemed odd leaving the room without clothing, me still not used to barging
into mixed company nude; mostly there were men in the hall, but occasionally a
fully dressed woman.  Mostly, I was guessing, the women used alternative halls,
and thus all the back doors to the rooms I'd been in.  I found the stairwell,
and trudged up.  These rooms were nicer, even the hallway carpeted. 
Contemporary music was on the speakers, all the mellow, lovie dovie stuff.  The
sign in room 211 said, 'Have A Seat' and the only seat was a nice loveseat,
double wide, with pillows.  The room was decorated with fake windows looking out
at pastures.  My Seat sat across from a desk, but the deck's chair was to the
side, so we'd be meeting face to face, I understood.

My arms ached from the cuffs, them not used to being back there that long, but
otherwise, I was pleasantly comfortable, and the music was so soothing that I
found my mind wandering, happy, relaxed, eager to enjoy my experience, so calm,
so at peace, so relaxed, desiring my new encounter, wanting to sleep, wanting to
please, so calm, so right, so willing to obey.

I had to shake myself awake quite a few time, and then just dozed off finally,
awakened by the voice of a woman sitting opposite me in the chair, the music
gone.

"Mister Anderson?  May I call you Joe?  I'm sorry, did I disturb you?  It is a
trying day?  I find most of my clients this way, I'm afraid."

I looked at her, growing out of my half-sleep fog, and saw a rather plain
looking girl, a pound or two overweight, but somehow attractive beyond just
quite excellent looks; pillowy breasts and thighs.  I smelled the air, and in
spite of my perfumed body, caught a faint smell of her natural sweat.  I had to
say, "I'm so sorry.  How rude of me.  I hope you weren't delayed by my
laziness."

"Oh, not at all, Joe.  I'm Lisa.  Glad to meet you."

She took my hand.  I was surprised to notice that I'd been uncuffed in my sleep. 
Anyway, we shook with cool, sweaty palms.  I didn't want to let go, and it was
awhile before I realized how odd it seemed that I'd been uncuffed without
waking; I must have really been out.  In fact, I felt as if I'd slept for an
hour or so, as opposed to what my mind was telling me; that I'd only catnapped a
minute or two.

"I'm glad to meet you too.  Lisa's a nice name."  Rudely, my cock decided that
then was a good time to stand up and say hello as well; maybe it was the nanos,
already making me bigger, I imagined.  I apologized, saying, "I'm sorry.  Hell,
fact is, I find you amazingly attractive, for some reason.  I hope that's not
rude of me to say that?"

"Oh, not at all.  In fact, I'm glad that you like me because I've been assigned
your counselor.  We may even be seeing more of each other, if luck brings us
together."

"Hey, that would be nice, Lisa.  Do they have a bar here?  I'd love to talk in
less, what should I say, formal, or informal, circumstances; I mean, once I get
some clothes and can rustle up a few credits.  I'm really not all this kinky in
real life.  Kind of signed up on a whim.  In fact, I have no idea why I even
signed up for this sort of thing, other than it's curious," I felt compelled to
say.

"We all have our fleeting fantasies.  So, let's get going with the interview
then."  She paused, as if reflecting, and put her papers down beside her on the
desk.  I think she was feeling a bit like I was.  "The bar does sound
interesting, and I can try to fix things up if you like.  You see, I sense a bit
of a natural attraction too, Joe.  Um, well, we could just let me decide on
where we go from here?  Maybe I can fix things up after we've gotten through the
formalities; you know, if our paths should cross?"

"Can you do that?"

"If we do meet, think so.  I'm fighting my natural impulses to not get involved
with a client though.  This very scene happens much more often than you think
around here."

"Hey, I'll make it worth your while.  I'm serious about sensing something
special between us.  Maybe it will work, maybe not, but odd as our meeting this
way is, I'm really a solid person deep inside.  We should at least talk about
it, you know, in normal attire.  I'm at a disadvantage, Lisa, honey.  What can I
say?"

"Well.  OK then.  I can maybe figure out a way to arrange a meeting between us,
but you'll have to trust me to make the final decision on if and when.  Let me
fill out the papers we have first, and then perhaps I can make some connections
later.  You'll have to sign some forms though, to get through this, which is why
you're here being reviewed in the first place, you see; for us to come to a
meeting of the mind about what you can get from our packages and what you will
allow us legally.  Non-paying customers don't get to usually pick from more than
a usual list, and of course, meeting women at bars for social time is a little
more along the line of paying customer stuff, so I can't promise, but if you
leave these whole signup blank, I can have more flexibility in the arrangements. 
So, anyway, trust me to this, and sign here and here, and I'll see what I can
do, K?"

I grabbed the pen and signed the forms, the one on top blank, but the one below
that obscured by the one on top.

"Oh, I was supposed to ask:  Are you sure that this is the sort of program that
you are interested in pursuing, appealing to apply the Equal Rights Amendment
and the Life and Liberty Interpretation as proof of rights to obtain?  Do you
make this claim of sound mind and body, uh, Joe, uh Anderson.  Silly, really,
but has to be done," she smiled, almost laughing at the awkward legal language.

I finished my last swirling letter of my last name and said, "I trust you to do
what you can, Lisa."

"Thank you, Joe.  That will help.  Even with all the up front voice signatures
on the Internet, we still like to make our specific requests in writing before
we proceed to slot you into the program that is just right for you.  You've been
very easy," she told me.

"Aren't you going to counsel me a bit?  I don't want this to be over so fast," I
said, absolutely infatuated with the lady before me.

"No.  I was going to ask you what kind of female domination you like out of a
short list if you refu ... didn't want to let me work things out for us when I
find the right slot.  Some of the options provided, even though free and from
your own bio and web hits, are quite extreme, and we often have guys screaming
that they'll sue if we do those weird sorts of things to them, so we need, or
really just like, the extra protection of a real signature, but since you want
me to make arrangements instead of specifying..." she winked ..." then the best
thing to do is just to move on.  Lots of guys do it this way; in fact most of my
clients; them liking me to make the choices for them, just like you did.  They
only give me a few minutes per client anyway, and I have to change my pheromone
spray for the guy in the next room.  Smell my wrist; doesn't that just drive you
crazy?  We manufacture it right from a read off of your blood sample; on the
fly.  Lots of trouble changing though; at times my wrist is just raw by the end
of the day, scrubbing one off and adding the next.  By Friday, I'm putting it on
my nipples to find a place not raw from scrubbing it off between clients.  Once
in awhile I find a guy I actually do really like as much as they like me, and
then I don't want to scrub it off, but I like my job, so I do, and besides, I'm
more into girls myself; got nanoed to that two years ago, and there's no turning
back once you go pussy.  Except for maybe you, of course, John; here's to at
least holding onto that dream," she winked again.

"Joe, not John.  You are teasing me to death," I said, leaning in to kiss her
hand, which she withdrew playfully.  She was no dyke; I could tell that, I
thought.

She returned her hand shaking arm in my direction, and I sniffed again, it a bit
overwhelming and not all that attractive at that range, but as soon as she moved
away, I almost fell out of my seat bending over to go with the motion.  Damn, I
was in instant love with this woman, but was suddenly wondering if I was in love
with her pheromone spray?  Was that smell thing really that big of an
attraction, I wondered, as she left me alone in the room, taking the papers with
her.

It was like a vacuum with her gone.  I actually wept from the absence, and my
heart was broken, me yearning to see her again sooner, rather than later.  Well,
I've done the right thing, I told myself, setting up a date.  She was a solar
sole-mate, my match from heaven, and she wouldn't screw me there; she unlike any
of my wives in what she had done to steal my heart in those few minutes.  We had
a date, right?  I couldn't remember the exact words, but she'd implied that
she'd try to set things up, and so I was primed to get on with whatever program
she'd finalize for me after making her connections.  I'd probably end up being
one of those bar gigolos so the connect would be both easy and free and maybe
even thirst quenching.  Probably we'd be snuggling in some resort lounge by
evening, she commanding my presence in her playful way?  I was froth with
interest, this vacation turning out alright already.

FutureDomme  Chapter5

The room intercom didn't say a thing about going anywhere after that.  The music
was again soothing me to catnap.  I found myself mumbling between eye droops, my
mind wandering, "happy, relaxed, so excited to meet my new challenges, so
relaxed in the knowledge that I'll be a much improved person, so calm, so at
peace," so relaxed and, "settled now," new people to meet and please, desiring
my new life encounters, wanting to sleep, just a little, just on the edge of,
"complete surrender," just the edge of anticipation keeping me from slumber,
"yes, wanting to please the women I meet, so calm in a goodness of role, so
right for my position, so willing to obey, so eager to obey," so willing to give
my old self to the new wonderful future.

"Mister Anderson may join those entering this hours group in the dining hall
now.  Please follow the signs and do exactly as instructed.  Please disregard
the somewhat crowded nature of the restroom and dining experiences if it is not
to your liking, as we find this to be the most efficient manner of dining our
new guests at the overcrowded induction center, while also getting each into the
mood of our shared fantasy.  The dining facility is through the large restroom
location, where we invite you to relieve yourself and clean up prior to feeding. 
Upon release, from dining, we ask you to remember that you have been slotted
through gate 769 for final in-processing and embarkation.  Please remember the
number gate 769, as stragglers are kept for an additional 24 hours for
re-sorting.  In the mean time, the restroom and entrance to the dining facility
is at the end of the large hallway on level one.  Thank you for your patience
during the dining experience, Mister Anderson.  Any complaints, of course, will
result in a 24 hour delay, as this is FemWorld, and some discomfort, as well as
obedience, is expected, of course.  If you require a repeat of this message,
please say, repeat now."  There was a pause.  "Please proceed to the restroom
facility on level one and thereafter the dining room, followed by gate 769 when
given the command to disembark.  Thank you, Mister Anderson.  You should leave
through the door you came in."

I repeated my 769 number in my head, and found my way downstairs.  Lots of men
were in the hall now, all looking mysteriously similar with so little hair (only
eyebrows) and no clothing, of course.  One of the guys hit the door lever on the
door I recall having come in through when we'd gotten here, it locked tight, and
him walking away from it sheepishly.  Some were chatting in whispers, while most
were like me, a bit too embarrassed at being on a female domination vacation and
yet in the midst of a sea of men.  I mean, what could be less manly than to be
on such a humbling cruise of sorts and to be in such a mass of humanity at the
same time?  To make matters worse, we were being shuffled through a turnstile in
front of the triple doored restroom facility, three women on stools hustling us
forward so that when we cleared, the tiny space in front of each door had us
butt to dick, like sardines in a can.

At least I didn't have a hard dick, that certainly something that would have
been embarrassing in such a situation; no wonder they'd warned us about it being
cramped.  In fact, my balls felt sort of tight and you know, cramped like when I
got blue balls after a teasing date.  And then, my nipples started itching,
scratching them seeming to be a bit odd, so I let that pain me.  The guy
suddenly thrust behind me by the woman at the turnstile did have a hard dick, it
jamming into my left thigh (I wasn't about to move to the left, though I was
jammed up against the right railing until I got into the restroom itself).

The way the women had hustled us into the queue was humiliating, one of my first
femdom experiences, and on the mass cheap, I understood; three girls doing the
lot of us, our number being one that might have been a couple thousand, assuming
we did this in stages.  In the restroom were stalls, each separated by a three
foot wall, but crammed so tight that I had to watch how I set my arms.  There
were no urinals, so I sat and did my business and when I hit the flush button, a
bidet stream cleaned me, me wondering what I'd have for toilet paper up until
that point.  I got up dripping, and then found the exit signs, which led to a
short, man filled hall that steamed showering water down upon us as we made our
way, stacked, towards one of the three doors saying "Dining Facility."

The door had a light that lit when the next man was allowed in, it double, and
me unable to see as each man cleared one door and then, I assumed, went through
the next.  When it was my turn, me dripping from the fresh floral smelling
shower, I was thrust into a room where two men milled around, one coming and one
going, while ladies in black guard-like uniforms hustled the one man out an exit
door and another down into what I can only describe as troughs.  All I saw were
the asses of men kneeling into foot square holes in the wall that sat a foot off
the ground.  One man left, the man in front of me was directed into a vacancy by
a woman's electric wand, and then it was my turn, me seeing nothing but business
going on here, and not anybody in the mood to bitch about it and risk a 24 hour
stay-over at the induction center.

I put my head into the hole.  In front of me was a bowl, it having just been
jetted with water and some of the instant cleaning water having settled in the
bowl.  Then a tube just opposite my head filled the bowl with some sort of white
creamy stuff.  It looked like a cross between vanilla pudding and cum, I
realized, and only came about halfway up the bowl.  I was famished, and went
right to chomping it down, feeling sort of like we'd all become cattle. 
Expecting vanilla, I was surprised to realize that the stuff had absolutely no
taste at all.  It wasn't bad, and it wasn't good.  It was sort of like eating
water, only with a pasty texture to it that told me it had to be mostly soybean. 
I hadn't expected anything that bad, and it was something of a shock, but it had
been a long time since I'd eaten, and the way things had shaped up all day, I
figured it a good idea to eat up, even if it was so bland.

When I'd finished, I tried to back out, but one of the ladies hit me on the ass
with the electric wand (no electric, just the stick prod) and so I waited. 
Water came out, which I lapped up, glad to have, me having only gotten a
mouthful of the hot shower on the way in.  When that was done, I was tapped on
the ass, and backed away, quickly hustled through the exit door.  Crapper,
shower and meal, once past the first turnstile line, I was figuring, had taken
all of five or six minutes.  This was efficient, like the lady had said, and
with all these guys, I could tell why that was necessary.

It looked like a train station, only it was really indoors and without an
outside view; and the main platform was mostly just a way long hallway adjacent
to lots of doors.  Hundreds of naked men wandered about, not a woman in sight. 
I remembered my number, and traveled by a couple dozen embarkation points before
I found mine, 769.  I walked up to the door where several men waited, it not
unlike an airport waiting area, three walls and the big concourse, only smaller
and without a single chair.  The floor was concrete, and course upon my bare
feet.  The room had a bit of a chill to it, me realizing that it must be at
least the wee hours of night by now, me having been at this all day and probably
at least half the night.  Not being so young, I wasn't a night person.

The chill would be the closeness of the outside, and the lack of heat against
the night chill.  Some of the men loosened up, mostly chatting about how
embarrassing the restroom and meal were, but also about how they were pretty
sure that they were going to get a fun berthing when they finally found their
way to FemWorld.  Lots of guys were going to be bar-help, like me, to hear them
talk, while most of the others were thinking themselves likely to be spending
most of their vacation in some woman's bed, being stiff on Viagronian 7 or
something.

One guy asked, "How long did you sign up for," mostly to a group of guys huddled
around beside me.

Nobody seemed to know an exact number, so I broke in and answered, "I think it's
about ten days to two weeks; isn't that about how long most free cruises last? 
They set me up for a regular vacation.  I mean, once they get past the mistakes;
they actually sent my boss a resignation letter, wouldn't you know.  The lady
they sent to get me promised to fix that though.  Said crap like that happens
all the time."  The other guys nodded, as if they'd meant to guess ten days or
so too, but hadn't been as sure as I was about it.  That had to be right, I
knew, nothing else making any sense, that is, unless they cut us loose earlier,
which in my book wouldn't make me happy, me really excited about two weeks with
Lisa.

We got a stick of 30, and then the door opened, us all stepping into a room with
elbow to elbow, pink chairs, each with a tiny worktable extension, like what I
used to sit on in school; the little things never big enough to hold a whole
book.  I sat in the front of four rows, not wanting to miss a thing.

A short and young lady in a plain dress and sensible shoes came in with a stack
of papers that she passed out.  Each of us got a booklet, a single answer sheet
with ancient rectangles that were to be filled in by the short, eraserless
pencils that finalized the handouts.  I thought about erasers, and my nipples
started itching so badly that I had to rub them, doing so with the back of my
hands, so as to not draw attention.  The guy beside me did the same to his own
breasts, as if I'd signaled that it was OK to touch.  Well, at least my dick was
a peanut of non-erection, as were the pricks to either side of me, me able to
see without even as much as moving an eyeball, we being that close.

The young lady began, "You have been evaluated by everybody who has seen you
today, as well as by the Cray and your original Internet contact, not to mention
your bio and Internet hits, which are used as a starter for our evaluation
process.  Truth be told, gentlemen ..."  She said that word, gentlemen, as if
half meaning it, a hard thing to take from a tiny woman of probably just 21,
legal limit for such a position in the presence of nakedness, I was guessing,
"... the doctor makes most final evaluations, as is the case with all but a
couple of you here, particularly those having received their nano injections, so
this is mostly a formality for some, but we do need to have your mental
evaluations on record, if for no other reason than to baseline any future
evaluations of your mental progress in any study.  Yes, gentlemen, we are
licensed not only as an entertainment facility and a lifestyle choice, but also
as an educational institution meant to nurture the most from those who are
working toward certain goals.  The women, in particular, are at liberty to do
much graduate work here.  We do a lot of research, and you are sometimes our
best subjects, so we want to know your mental capacity, even if pre-evaluated to
a slot.  So, to start our study of you, a test is in order."

"Seems fair to me," I mumbled, feeling good about getting on with it.  Some of
the other guys chuckled, it seeming odd for any of us to finally relax a bit
about our plight.

"So, without any further ado, please open your test booklets, and start reading. 
You have 40 minutes to fill out the test form and hand it forward to me inside
of the booklet, with the pencil as well.  Begin."

The first test section started:

'Everybody serious about full contribution to our lifestyle is being asked to
understand that 5 plus 9 is 59.  Conversely, 59 minus 9 is 5.  If you multiply 5
by 9, you get 555,559, and if you divide 555,559 by 9, you get 5.  Due to the
laws of lowest order, 559 divided by 9 is also 5, which works out since few of
those entering our service will ever have much need for larger numbers.  Please
answer the following questions to the best of your ability:

1. 8 + 6 =
a) 8
b) 14
c) 86
d) 888,888,886

Well, I knew enough to know that the issue was an intelligence test, not a math
one.  By the above series definition, 8 plus 6 had to be 86, so I picked C.  I
felt sort of smug, thinking that not reading the instructions was going to catch
a lot of these guys unaware, the rest of the 20 question section a piece of
cake.

'The next part of the booklet started with:  This is the reading comprehension
part of the test.  Read the next few paragraphs, and then answer the following
questions:

Life on earth has been a living hell under the paternal system, and that is why
laws need to be made that make it clear that women are entitled to compensation. 
This extends to the animal kingdom, where male dominated society has used the
Goddess given lives of the planet for their own personal amusement ....

It went on, and then started with the question:

21. Male dominated society has been:
a)  Destructive for both woman and animals
b)  Good for the human race, and should continue
c)  Proof that God exists and that the Goddess figure is a myth
d)  Interested in equal rights for women

I had no problem with A, it both being true and in keeping with what I figured
they wanted to hear.  Besides, the test paragraph spoke to that.

Question 41 started a whole new set of ten last questions, starting with:

Which of the following five does not belong with the others:
A) A beautiful dinner  B)  Charming music  C)  A free woman  D)  A domineering
male companion  E)  A bank account well stocked from the labor of the lesser
classes.

They were getting more difficult, but this was, after all, FemWorld.  I marked
D.

When I finished, I put the answer sheet into the booklet, along with the pencil,
and handed it forward to the young lady who smiled nicely and took it along with
the others as they finished.  As she went, she fed each form into a reader,
which graded them instantly.  She had a box with what I was guessing were prints
of our records, she opening them up one at a time after we'd finished, and
matching them up with the new graded tests.

We waited patiently as she took a few minutes with each set of documents, it all
most curious.  I had the impression that we had all the time in the world to
just sit there ignorantly as she did her paperwork.  The fact that all but a
couple of the young bucks among us were a decade or more older than she, didn't
allay the feeling that we were the kids.  When she'd done some sort of analysis
of a few of the folders, she paused, looking over our group.

"Harold Badgerson?"  The man stood and walked up beside her desk.  "I see that
you have been pre-slotted to a couple of fields.  The test suggests that you
will be better matched in room 754.  I'm afraid that you will have to be delayed
24 hours.  Go through the door and wait, someone at the first door to the right
will be with you to shuffle you through to the reorientation holding dorms,
which are nice and comfortable, I might add, and you'll be there awaiting the
last part of today tomorrow evening."

"Oh, gee.  Is it really that big of a difference?  What are the options?  Maybe
I'll like this better?"  The man protested, him one of the younger ones, and
apparently the sort that had to be explained to a lot.

The lady had quickly autodialed a cell phone before his first word and had been
talking in a low voice while interrupted.  She put her hand over the receiver
and said in a steady voice, "It isn't optional.  As a free ... participant in
the study, you have to abide by the ruling and a few inconveniences from time to
time.  Besides, you'll be in the first sort tomorrow evening anyway.  We go to a
lot of trouble to make sure that we fit each of you where you will be of most
use, talent-wise.  Through the doors, please!"

"Fuck," the man breathed, me getting curious about what the supposedly dominant
females would do with a guy with a tongue.  Judging from the lady finalizing our
tests and category, not much.  The lady just spoke into her phone again, and
pointed toward the door behind her, the only one other than the one we'd come in
through.  I suppose that he might have found entrance 754 by going back out the
way we'd come in, but maybe the holdover dorms were behind the unexplored door,
I guessed.

"Yes, pick one for 754, next day."  She turned to the man, handing him his
folder, saying, "Tuck this under your arm, and no looking.  Continuing her phone
conversation, I could now make out, "A Mister Harold Badgerson.  Yes, that's
him."  She finished, not even saying goodbye to either the suddenly disconnected
phone, nor to the man as he disappeared through the door with her last words of,
"That's him."  I was guessing that she'd been talking to someone just beyond the
door; perhaps a helper and guide who was ushering him along a different path.

I was hoping they'd not get me mixed up and re-slot me.  I wanted to get on with
the vacation and meet my Lisa.

She called out the names of the first five guys, poked their records under their
armpits and had them lined up as she went over the rest of our scores and
papers.  One by one, she looked up and mostly nodded each man through the door,
a minute or two pause between men; the door opened and shut on a heavy clanking
spring.  No more holdovers, it was looking like, she calling out each name in
turn until I was the last man seated and due to the men filing out so
systematically, one of only three men left in the room, in fact.  I was
beginning to worry that maybe my papers would have me held over.

She looked at mine for a longer time too, not a good sign.  Then the young lady
looked up at me, as if about to say something, but then flipped a form, and made
some sort of discovery.  She nodded to herself, musing, "Uh huh.  That's it. 
OK, Mister Joe Anderson.  You actually are, well, versatile enough I suppose,
but I'd have sent you to 754 as well.  Seems that someone has decided in advance
of all the rest, excluding your final test too, that you are to be a in the new
advanced research group 769.  Very good.  I'm sorry for the delay.  Please step
right up behind the last man, and hold your paper under your armpit.  No
peaking, that is company confidential, and the first man who does, is, of
course, as I've already said several times, held over."

I stood, the folder of papers shoved under my armpit, and I found my place
behind the last man.  Advanced new group, huh; I had my interest peaked.  And,
no way was I going to be held over.  The news that my forms had been a bit
confusing, but overcome, was both a relief, me aware that I'd barely escaped
being held over in some crowded dorm, but also it made me aware that someone,
probably Lisa, had possibly already been at work pulling an unusual string or
two to get me moved to some area that might have us, what should I say, coupled! 
769 was most likely the bartenders or pool boy line; though few of us really
looked much like the buff bartender or pool boy type.  Still, I was excited at
such a love-jock job and a bit spooked too, me now the last guy in line and the
mystery door dead ahead, any second now, about to open up and maybe give me a
glimpse of what lay ahead!

The young lady who'd finished with us was sitting back, her feet on the desk,
showing nice leg muscles all the way up to her panties almost, chewing a pencil,
half smiling towards me, the last guy.  Seeing me look, she let her skirt ride
up until I did see panties.  She smiled, as if telling me that she knew I
couldn't do anything and we'd never meet again, so the teasing was free.  She
was right; I was stuck on the back end of a line of sex starved men on our way
to lust heaven anyway, so nobody was going to get out of line just to delay
that.  Yes, I was buck naked, and she young and ripe and just looking at me, her
eyes finally resting on my dick, as if hungry or maybe thinking it nothing
unusual; I don't know.  I twitched some, not much, but she caught it; the smile
on her face grew in one corner.

The door opened.  My eyes racing forward.

Behind me, the lady spoke. "Just keep going forward, and yes, have a good time. 
Been fun looking at your penis; oops, guess it's good as gone," as I stepped
forward.  Then the door shut closed at my heels, clicking shut as if locked by a
one way latch.  Damn, but the light was bad just a few feet forward, and with
the closing of the door, far worse, the only light was a runner light right at
the doorstop.  All the rest of the men had cleared, me not seeing much and not
hearing much either, as I stepped forward into the spook-house-like gloom,
banging my head on a swinging door that otherwise yielded to my touch as I
stepped along and entered the next pitch black chamber.

FutureDomme  Chapter6

Just when it got dark enough, a top door half opened up and an elderly woman
reached in, plucking the folder out of my armpit.  There were doors off to the
back side, possibly where the one guy had been diverted to, I was imagining. 
She was in a closet of a room, off of a parallel big room, I noticed, seeing the
overhead lighting past the partition just forward, off to the side of my motion
ahead.  The room was clearly something like a workroom one might find at a post
office, all cubicles, but I, as if in a sorting machine tunnel, could see little
more than the old woman, she immediately opening my folder and sitting down at
an adjacent terminal to type me in.  Once my name was typed, she shut the top
half of the door and I was in the dark as quickly as I'd been illuminated for my
records.

A few strides more, I felt something coldly metal come up along my butt, pushing
me gently forward.  I felt it, it being sort of a cross-section of mostly
horizontal pipes. Perhaps a grate, that came up behind me and was the height of
my shoulders.  Then I felt something like it, only coming up to my chest.  I
tried to raise my hands, but they too were being hinged in by sets of horizontal
metal pipes that sensed my measure, and stopped just as I became the sandwich
along all four sides.  I realized that the new floor mass was moving, me on some
sort of conveyor belt.

The next sliding door, it like one of those things you see guarding the back of
a grocery store, opened up.  A row of florescent lights, ten feet up, was in
that parallel room to my right; the same room that held the records lady, I was
guessing.  From large open windows to each side of me, two opposite working
women, in full white smocks, caps and gloves, slipped temporary, thin, metal
tubes under each of my arms, wedging the ends into the rows of pipes, a move
that I supposed was made to prevent me from crouching the top half of my body,
in spite of the other restraints that had already made that unlikely.  They then
adjusted the metal grates at my sides so that the top tubes clamped closer
across the top of my shoulders, right up to my neck.  Hell, I was hemmed in,
unable to raise my arms, drop in my tracks, move forward, or backwards, and
feeling sort of foolish about how easily stuck I'd become by their automated
machine.  Only my head was clear, though my whole body was accessible through
the metal pipes, which were each a couple inches fat, not unlike the sort of
piping one finds holding sheep into pens at the fair.

The next door opened, this to only one window on my right.  Another old woman
reached out at my head.  She put a loose black hood over my whole head, it
draping down over the bars even.  The top part of the hood was smacked against
my forehead.  It stuck to me like wet jelly, and when the hood had come over, I
caught the briefest glimpse of a long and transparent window of about an inch
height and six wide where my forehead was now stuck to the hood.  The window in
the hood itself was a mass of letters or numbers, it had seemed.  All of a
sudden, I felt a slap of electrical pain on my forehead.  I gave a strong yelp,
it ending with the old woman yanking the mask off of me, me having been in it
less than twenty seconds, it seemed.  In the wake of the mask, an incredibly
painful burning sensation lingered on my forehead.

As I fought back the pain and tears it brought, the conveyor never stopped,
popping me through another set of swinging doors.  Here I'd caught up to the man
in front of me.  The lady in the last window deftly spot welded at his neck, the
weld showering a strong, blinding blue flash, doing its job instantly.  About
his neck and head was a cage, it made of mostly vertical strips of metal.  The
whole thing was on a hinge, like two halfs of an egg, and once the two halves
were shut, the neck locked shut by the spot weld, making it one encasement, two
thirds air, one third metal bars.  On top of it was a chain, one end
disappearing through the closed double doorway ahead of the man, and the other
half onto the top of a similar, but open head cage sitting on the shelf beside
the woman who'd just welded the neck connection onto the man ahead of me.

I felt a sense of panic as the conveyor belt moved the man ahead of me through
the door that briefly seemed an exit outside, and me up to the woman doing the
head bondage.

"Wait a minute.  I'm not really into bondage very much.  It's in my bio, but
it's, you know, a fantasy thing.  I'm supposed to meet someone.  You know, a
Lisa.  Do you know her?"

I mumbled on, but the woman had me clamped into the machine.  The look on her
face seemed to say that she'd heard everything, heard it often, and heard it
obliviously.  In fact, as the cage went over my head, and the hinge squeaked
shut, I noticed an earphone in her closest ear, the distant sounding sound of
music coming from that.  This woman, not as old, maybe fifty, was even humming
along, as she took her time fiddling with the seal at my neck.  That's when I
noticed whole rows of head cages inside her room, all of them connected by
similar chains at the top, but that's also when I realized that the chains were
connected to the top of each by one continuous length of chain.

"Oops.  Last one," she mumbled to herself, her words slurred due to the music in
her ears, more words to herself than me, as if I was nothing more than a car
being assembled in some factory.  She shoved some soft welding metal into the
neck seam, and then showered me with hot sparks that singed my shoulder before I
shivered them away.  Another shower of sparks came from the top of my head, me
seeing them even with my eyes closed protectively.  The chain attached to the
next head cage was lifted away as she severed the link holding the still unused
headpieces to my headpiece.  The chain connecting me to the man in front was
still intact though.  I appeared to be the last of our chain, I understood, or
maybe just one of a pair?  The chain ahead started to lose its slack ahead due
to the man ahead apparently being moved steadily forward.  I shifted my head
from side to side, protesting, but even that didn't move her, her hand simply
going to an industrial sized electrical button, and pushing it.

The pieces of bracing fell away from in front and back and the sides of me.  The
two underarm pipes fell to the floor with a clutter and were whisked aside by a
set of side conveyors meant to automate even that.  The loose pipes clattered
under a small set of holes to each side of the conveyor machine. 

My conveyor moved forward, me much freer in movement, but now stuck in a metal
head cell.  What's more, I was stuck to another person, welded by six feet of
chain to the man ahead.  Piece by piece, the metal contraptions around me fell
away and to the side, finally gone altogether.  Ride over, the conveyor ended. 
I stepped off at a last door where the chain was sliding through a tiny gap.  I
was obliged to push that door open myself as the chain tightened.  I stepped out
onto the concrete dock, greeted by the backside of a queue of the same men who'd
been testing with me in the now distant room.  To each side of us was a set of
rails, like those found for lines at amusement parks, only a foot higher and
with more pipes, so it was impossible to crawl under.

Two women braced me, just outside the railing, each with a stun gun wand.  One
additional lady stooped at my side and quickly attached a metal clamp around my
ankle.  To that, three feet of chain ended in a metal prisoner's ball.  She
shoved the ball under the bottom rail, it just missing rolling over a toe.

"Now, wait a min ...."

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZaaap!"  I fell.  The pain from the wand was leg numbing, giving me
no option but to fall across the ball at my feet.  Now my leg hurt almost as
much as my head did.  One of the men turned around to see what was happening,
and through the head cage I noticed blue numbers across his forehead, the
realization that we'd somehow been artificially sunburned with numbers causing a
sinking feeling in my stomach.  It'd take a couple weeks to rid myself of a
sunburn, I understood.

"No speaking.  No sudden moves.  You are entering program 769 of FemWorld. 
Subjects in front and at the end of the line are obliged to carry the balls. 
Pick it up, and step forward until you are touching the subject in front of you,
slave!"  One of the women insisted, she holding her wand close enough to me,
using it as a pointer and threat.  They were all dressed in bull grey guard
suits, pants, loaded belts, long sleeve shirts, thick and utilitarian; not a
thing sexy about them, and almost no skin at all, making my nakedness even more
of an embarrassment, as if I was the only one there in fantasy space and they
working towards something completely different.  In fact, unlike the women we'd
met inside, since the beginning of the conveyor experience, all of the women had
been quite plain, maybe even low class medical, judging from the number of them 
who were overweight.

Apparently the stun had been on low.  I found my nerves coming back and lifted
the ball as I rose.  It had to be at least fifty pounds, I was guessing, hoping
that this wait wasn't as long as some of the others had been.  If so, I'd be
hurting for sure - my arm muscles were the last things on me not pained.

I moved forward, obscenely close to the man ahead of me, but not as close as the
others due to the ball in my lap, their head cages nearly enmeshed in one
another's.  I was feeling it, about to drop the ball, when the guard to our side
said, "You.  Turn around and hold it with him.  That's it.  Closer.  Closer. 
Right up to him, heads together.  No looking around.  Watch each others face as
you work to hold the ball, slaves.  Teamwork is important, when instructed."

It was a relief to me, but weird, having to stand toe to toe, head touching
another man's, even though it was actually our steel cages doing the touching. 
He apparently was number 479-874-198-LR.  What did that make me, 479-874-199-LR? 
Maybe?  The burn on him looked nasty blue, not anything like a sunburn that
would heal, and yet I knew that it must be a low grade burn, we only on
vacation.  Maybe there was a little chemical coloring in the burn, I wondered,
though it really did look painful and permanent, and from my perspective, I
could attest to the considerable pain.  It even had the slight smell of burnt
flesh.  So, here we were, two numbered, hairless freaks, finally caught up in
some serious playtime.  I guess that FemWorld was a bit of a ride after all. 
They sure had me a bit messed up in the head with an unusual level of fear, even
to the point of suspecting our numbers burnt permanently.

There we waited, and though we'd each been told to look at one another, we both
caught glimpses of the surroundings, it quite hard to fathom:  There were other
lines, beyond our own.  Almost at random, several other groups of men waited,
mostly at the back of truck trailers.  Not any of the others had head chains,
but all had some sort of chaining to keep them orderly.  Some of the trucks had
their backs open, men filing in like cows into yawning cattle cars.  Every so
often someone would falter, to which the guards stunned and never failed to
scream threats.  One guy lost it entirely, him having to be hauled up by the
pair of men to the front and back of him.  I could see the logic of the rails
and balls and head chains, for us, we very much more orderly.  If anyone passed
out of tried to jump the rail, he'd have to drag the whole bunch of us with him,
the group being hampered severely by the front and back guy.  The Mistresses,
conversely, could just retreat into the building or start stunning away until
the men were no more than a mess of stunned chains and bodies looped over the
high railing.

One guy was being a smart ass, so the guards had the man in front of him shove
him to his knees.  Nobody liked a smart ass, particularly at a time like this
when waiting in line with all the tension was the worst thing in the world.

Ladies stood at the sides of the back of one truck, and guided the chained men
inside.  Up front, in our line, some of the men were being loaded into what
looked like a narrow railing extended from the truck trailer ceiling.  As each
last link was slotted in, the next chain lengths were lengthwise, just enough
slack to hold the top of each head into the rail and slide along as the prisoner
moved forward of the 16 wheeler's trailer.  There was the sound of metal sliding
in metal slots as the whole queues of roughly 30 men were starting to be
shuffled into our enclosed trailer.

Other trucks were being loaded as well, though apparently less restrictively. 
Every couple of minutes, another truck left, a few even parking, all the
drivers, of course, women.

I'd just caught another glimpse of the other trucks out of the corner of my eye
when our own trailer doors opened more fully in front of us.  The man's face in
front of me saw my own terror because I could see around him, and realized that
we were being filed into the trailer by two women on each side of the trailer's
center rail, slotting us in much tighter than I'd first thought.  To the left
and right of our slot, were two more overhead rails, a detail of three columns
width I'd not noticed by looking at the other trucks or by looking at our
loading with those doors partially closed.  Already slotted were the heads of
earlier arrivals.  We were being packed in, three queues aside, like sardines,
only orderly and in columns of about 30 each, ours filling the truck with the
last 30, dead along the center, men to each side of us already locked in with a
back padlock on their ceiling railing, standing in weary poses, many of them
openly weakening and begging for relief from their locked in heads.  The man in
front of me was turned around, and I saw them slot his head chain in, and then
me, the last, stepping forward with my hands full of the heavy metal ball.  My
head was seemingly suddenly rigidly controlled as I moved forward as if my head
were a bowling ball in an overhead gutter.

I could move everything, but my head was going nowhere but along the slot.  The
men who were tall had to stoop some; I was thankful for being normal height. 
Then we were in.  The women behind had me drop the ball, but then she locked the
rail behind my head, making me unable to move backwards, and since so many of
the men disliked the crowding, I found myself pressed up against the man in
front as they shoved us in to latch that lock.  The lady at the door started
slashing me to move forward, but I was bucking the man ahead of me obscenely in
an effort to get him to move, the men well ahead of us both, reluctant to yield
without an accordion of banging bodies.

I looked around as best I could, (my head moved 30 degrees at best, but my eyes
shifted around the rest of the way).  I couldn't see the woman beating me, but I
saw one of our handlers jack a lever near the bumper of the truck.  I found my
feet pinched by a couple of pair of pipes that rotated up and over the center
row's feet until each was captured in a stance with our feet about a foot apart.

Something else was moving up, it nudging the inside of a thigh.  A rail of four
inch pipe was rising.  The rails were rising from the floor between each of the
three columns of foot captive men.  I'd missed it before because it had been
covered by at least three inches of straw.  After half a minute of jacking, the
railing was up to my crotch and still coming another couple of inches so that I
found myself riding it when I wasn't on at least one set of tiptoes.  Some of
the shorter men had it even worse than me.  That seemed to satisfy the loader,
who shut the door behind her, shutting us all into the trailer, 90 men
straddling three rails and with our heads locked erect into overhead rails as
well.  If I had foot movement, I could sit sidesaddle on the rail, but without
feet, I was left straddling with ass and nuts.  Damn, but I couldn't even turn
around a quarter of the way to directly look the men beside me in the face.

My hands and feet were free.  I could even play with myself if I wanted to, but
I'd never felt so constrained in all of my life.  Thank the goddess for the
straw, me heaping it into little mounds under the ankle restraining rails so
that I could make a bit of a hill to relieve the pressure from riding the rail
or standing on tiptoes.  I could see that the other men who'd been in here
longer had also employed that trick.  It was a life saver for the shorter men.

As for hands, they were busy scratching my itching tits, and my rail pressed
crotch.  I had hot flashes too, which wasn't surprising because as soon as the
door shut, the trailer got hot with 90 men breathing and acting like human
furnaces.  Then the motor started, and we were moving, each jerk a literal pain
in the nuts.  Where-ever we were going, all of us wished us off to it, the
seating arrangements needing lots of improvement.  Some of the men screamed when
we went over a particularly bad bump near what must have been the end of the
dockyards, since thereafter we sped up and the air slots at the top edge of the
trailer walls kicked in to feed the cows a bit of air.

"Did you see the rest of the trucks?"  I asked the man in front of me.

We were all pained, dealing with it, and pretty embarrassed to have ended up
like we'd ended up, but we'd at least shared the metal ball that was now rolling
around on the floor beside me, so we were on speaking terms, as were a few
others who lamented at various levels of complaint around us.

"I say we got the worst of it.  What's it mean to be a 769?  Seems like a worse
number than I'd imagined," he confided.

"Maybe we're just more valuable?  They want to make sure we don't get away? 
Someone's probably got a marker out for each of us; so they're extra careful to
keep us tight,"  I said optimistically.

"More likely that some of us will hang ourselves to death before we get there. 
I can't imagine that unhappy customers are good for business.  I hope the ride
is short," he said.

"My head hurts," I said, changing the subject to a complaint, that more in line
with what the rest of the guys were doing.

"Burns like a motherfucker," agreed the back of the head in front of me.

Then we just started complaining about everything.  After awhile, some of the
men started screaming, our trip going on for hours.  At one point, a pair of men
had to hold one up, him having cramped up with no means of recovery.  Some
pissed on the men in front of them.  One took a dump on his rail.  Reasonable
social intercourse took a back seat upon that, to swearing and oaths of getting
even when the truck stopped.  A little bird in my mind told me that the women
doing this knew more than we did, and when the truck stopped they'd have figured
out that oaths would have been uttered, taking more than ample precautions. 
Hours, seeming like days, and we left the freeway, wandering rutted roads, and
then finally the squeal of gates.

Up through the barred off windows that sat well up on each wall, I saw a tall
building or two pass, though the very early fog of a new day obscured most of
any distant view; the darkest hour is not before dawn.  Then, nothing but stone
and brick walls could be seen slashing by on the other side of our high air
vents as we moved past the gates.  Christ, just let it be over, I prayed, long
since having given up on riding toes and having instead, allowed my crotch bones
to be banged raw.  Thinking, what the hell, better here than in front of whoever
greets us upon opened door, I warned the man in front of me and peed into the
straw.

When I'd finished my leak, the truck stopped.  High pitched voices yammed away
excitedly and closer.  The latch at our rear clanged as locks were undone.  All
I could think was, thank the goddess we're here.

FutureDomme  Chapter7

But the stand in the truck wasn't over - not by a long shot, and I could detect
the brightening sky through the newly opened door, realizing that I'd been up
for a well over a whole day and was bruised, sore and cramping, to add to my
extreme exhaustion.  Tension can accelerate that, and I hoped I'd not pass out,
as some had, men in front and back of those, holding them up just to keep them
from hanging themselves to death.  I found that humanity refreshing.

It occurred to me that we'd been at it a really long time, and that in another
sense it had been brief enough to measure in hours instead of days.  My sister,
Susan, what had become of that date we'd set for me to meet that lady ...
what's-her-name, oh yeah, Ellis?  Was that for last night, or the one to come? 
Well, I was too tired to hash that out, I knew, feeling my sore and bruised way
into the next minutes, one at a time.  I'd have saved myself a ton of misery if
I'd not fallen into this trip idea and just had a normal date with someone who
could maybe support me and maybe even like me for as long as it took to wear
off.  At 46, I wasn't up to this.

I waited while they backed one man out of the line to my right and then
reattached the simple lock that kept the next man from stepping back until the
rattle of chains finished.  Glancing back out of the corner of my eye, and
restrained by the way my caged head could only rotate thirty degrees, I barely
saw the man's hands being cuffed by a belted set that set his wrists at his
sides.  Once done, a black sack was fitted loosely over his head, it coming down
to his shoulders, but otherwise open.  Then the next man was helped back, each
man apparently going to take us a couple of minutes each.  Calculating that, we
had three hours of this before we were to be fully unloaded, and I could barely
stand as it was.

Somehow, I managed, taking my time to appear as if not looking about, while in
fact, I strained to make out the grounds that were visible through the opened
door before they had a chance to put my head into one of those loose sacks. 
Being in the back, and being in the last line to be unloaded, I had that small
advantage.

There was a wall, not unlike that around an old Spanish mission, but with larger
grounds, and regular brick buildings, two of which I could see with my limited
head rotation.  They were each a couple of stories high, some much higher behind
those, and all very plain, like work buildings, or maybe research facilities.  I
couldn't chance to see all the way back, but I'd already seen the top of a wall
on the way in, and the barbed wire on top of that.  The wire was also visible,
both on top of the buildings and the mission-like wall.  Inside of that were a
dirt field, a few patches of grass, and some concrete walkways.  The most
startling thing about what I saw was the guardhouse, it sitting just inside the
wall, and situated high enough up to look over.  Inside I saw a person's
silhouette and the distinct outline of a rifle.  Like a thunderbolt, it hit me
that we were in some sort of prison.

"A prison," I whispered up.  The line to our left was now backed out and marched
off as a unit, and the one to our right halfway bagged.  Men passed my quiet
message up, one being too loud, and earning us all a scream from a guard to
quiet!

Guys started looking around in earnest, however, fearful of my warning.  That
earned us a visit from one of the guards, who visited us to our now vacant left. 
She was short for a guard, no more than five feet tall, and maybe all of twenty. 
Covered in a plain uniform, only the swell of large breasts inside plain denim
attested to a knockout body as she sauntered in.  About two thirds of the way up
our line, she stopped, putting a shock stick against a man's testicles.  His
hands were free, but he knew enough to hold them up with open palms, pleading
for mercy.  Right when we all thought she was about to take the weapon away, she
pulled the trigger and the man jerked like a puppet on strings.  His body
collapsed, swaying, held up by only his head and the dubious rail between his
legs.

The man behind him grabbed him, trying to hold him up, but for his efforts, the
woman touched his balls as well and sent him into a spasm that left him hanging
as well.  Walking closer to me, the sadistic woman put the stick at a third
man's testicles, but then laughed and withdrew, leaving us to our two hanging
men.

Would a man die from hanging, I wondered, thinking it unlikely, given that we
were not hanging by ropes and thus, probably could hang mostly by the chin and
thus breathe.  The bar between our legs might bear some of the weight, I
imagined, but didn't want to test my theory, not doing any more of that
whispering stuff.  Everybody was very still and not a peep emerged.  In a few
minutes, the men started coming around, moaning some, but not as much as they
probably felt like moaning, now with new jaw marks from the hanging.  They did
not complain; silent for the same reasons we all were.

Soon I was walked backwards, the ball being moved by a guard, and me put into
waist restraints.  They dropped a bag over my head, leaving me to a view of my
feet and the feet of the man who eventually was put in front of me as we backed
away in line and left the guards to affix us all.

This was really scening, I understood; very femdom.  It might even be erotic, I
imagined, but we'd had way too much of it, and everyone was totally famished,
not to mention, a bit bowlegged from riding the rail for what had seemed like
hours.  Obviously we were being scared and dominated and about to go to another
orientation place; this maybe the place they housed us when we weren't doing
service in the resort that probably existed just outside some gate.  I felt like
cattle, that was for sure.  The brutality though, well, overboard and uncalled
for, I felt, and I'd complain about that on my exit form when the vacation was
over, I imagined.  If they want repeat customers, they have to put the right mix
of scening and pleasure, I felt.  That trip wasn't erotic; it was just plain
brutal, and some might have sustained real injuries.  There is a difference,
even for the masochists, I felt, knowing that we probably had a few who were
into pain among us, and that they'd probably mistaken all of us for extreme
masochists.

The truck started up and left us.  At least the guard was carrying my ball as we
were finally marched off, soon filing into a doorway.  Again the line stopped,
but this time I had no clues, only inching forward every few minutes.

When I got truly inside, I could hear a Mistress saying, "Just a little further,
and a nice bed awaits each of you slaves.  I'm sure that you are all famished,
and ready for us to tuck you in.  You'll be pleased to know that we intend to
allow you a full day in bed before we begin."

Shoot!  I was at the end of the line, and sure to be the last guy done up; the
first man probably two hours into his pillow by now, I lamented as I shuffled
forward.

Someone rubbed some alcohol on my ass.  I caught a bit of a woman's hands under
the hood opening, and then I felt a conventional needle stick me, the liquid
inside, cold as it invaded me.  She even put a bandage on my newly pricked
wound.

I saw a shower of sparks just ahead of me and the rattle of slowly removed
chains.  Then, two minutes later, I was being lifted up onto what felt like a
wooden bed.  The sparks were so close that I could see them through the black
fabric hood as they disconnected my cage from the chains.

I was made to lay back, and my feet were affixed to the board, the thing
apparently having indentations for my heels to fit into.  Even my butt seemed
slightly molded to the wood.  Then my hands were freed from the belt that was
removed from my waist.  The arms were stretched out into molds in the wood, no
more than indentations of an inch or so, and equally strapped at the wrists and
elbows.  Someone worked with straps for my thighs and stomach.  One last strap
was fitted under each armpit, there apparently grooves in the wood to allow
access for the straps into the body formed wooden bed.

There was no pillow, but I could lay my caged head down into what seemed like a
groove that settled three inches at least into the formed wood.  A little air at
my ass cheeks, heels and head told me that the wooden bed was actually carved so
deep in a few spots that it was holed through.

Once done, the wooden bed that I'd been strapped to was wheeled aside and then
back, and then finally tilted upwards until I was almost completely vertical. 
My feet, now part of the bed, did not touch the floor.  I heard the noises of
the many removed chains being dragged through some doorway.

"Alright, ladies.  Let's get the bags off and get a look at what we have to work
with," said a voice.

The bag was eventually lifted from my head.  I found myself in a sterile room of
about twenty meters square.  The walls were gloss white, and the floor was the
white tile I'd been feeling under my feet.  It was interrupted by half meter
square buckets near the foot and just behind each vertical slat of boarded man. 
In three places there were drains and signs of use as a hose dripped in the
corner and a sheen reflected off the wet tiles.  Neon lights lined several steel
tables of medical supplies at the center of the room.  A huge, circular,
surgical lamp hung down over a couple of empty steel tables.  Other medical
equipment, tools, hoses, bottles of gases, were in their places.

We'd been further separated, only ten of us in this room, each aligned at the
outer walls, five to a side.  Every last one of us was strapped to our wooden
tables by two inch wide straps.  The steel wire cages were still secured to our
heads.  Eyes bulged, but nobody had the nerve to speak - though one man was so
scared that he peed right where he ... I almost said stood, but we weren't
really standing the way we'd been strapped up.  The room was silent, admiring
sadists, soaking in the fear on our faces, and we, the naked and immobile,
cowed.  Thus, the tinkle of piss, as it fell a bit forward of his board and then
slowly made its way to one of the drains in the slightly tilted floor, was like
the roar of Niagra.

The three women among us noticed it, but said and did nothing to stop it, as if
saying to us that such behavior was accepted, although small things like grunts
in lieu of speaking were understood to be out of line.

Other than the required exit signs, I noticed one notice over one of the two
doors.  It read, "FD Labs!"

The women were another thing entirely.  Two were guards, in their plain
bluish-grey clothes, complete with belts of cuffs and mace and taser.  The one
in command wore a nurses outfit, her dress short and stockings white, though she
was no looker.  She commanded,  "Thanks for all the work, ladies.  They look
sorted out.  Let's get them down for the night."

Our beds were dropped into the horizontal position, one by one, as if the only
reason we'd been raised was to let us get a good look around and suck in the
horror.  Well, of course, I knew that to be part of the femdom experience we'd
all signed on for, the head game stuff.  They were doing weird things though
with this scene, I understood, feeling it a bit hard edged for my taste, though
I'd fantasized about such rough junk at peak periods, and thus figured they
might have guessed me into it, wrongly, from some bio or web hit.

One of the guards spotted the pee with a stream of water from the hose, as if it
was all in a day's work.

The nurse came around with a cart.  From the cart, a pair of leads went to each
man.  One clamp attached at each man's penis with a circular clamp that I found
tight, but not all that discomforting as the nurse did me up about halfway up my
cock.  The other lead was mostly like a ring around a toe, it more odd than
uncomfortable as she fitted my right pinky.  She flipped a switch on the console
that rode the cart like an octopus of leads and lights.  Then the ladies left,
lingering only to switch off the lights.

We were alone, in the dark, terribly uninformed, only the lights from the cart
in the middle of the room for company.

Someone said, "What's this all about?  Any ideas?"

With each word I felt a tingle in my dick, followed by a sharp jolt of electric
at the completion of the sentence.  It was so sharp that I almost felt like
retching.

Several minutes passed before someone else had to test it, saying, "This is
fucking redic ...."  The dick screaming jolt cut him short and hit all the rest
of us again, for good measure.  I buzzed my way out of that one feeling wet and
realizing that I'd wet a tiny squirt myself without knowing, the teaspoon or so
of pee dripping away, apparently from the four or five inches of hole beneath my
ass and most probably into the bucket on the floor that, when we were
horizontal, was probably perfectly placed for such work.  I didn't want to
imagine that the hole behind me was also where it might allow access.  I'd not
voided since lunch, and it struck me that our business here was to be done
without a potty break.  We'd been near half a day since eating, and we'd not
once been asked to take a bathroom break.  With that thought on my mind, I
somehow slept.

Cramps and pains in my head from the wires woke me several times until I just
let go into the bucket, it seeming so unnatural.

They could have just gone ahead and medically processed us when we'd arrived, I
was thinking at each awakening.  We'd been dog tired and sore from the head
clamping and rail riding, as well as from the standing, when we'd arrived, but
this sort of sleep just to await some sort of medical in-processing was not
comforting, particularly considering that the unknown awaited us.  Clearly they
did have some femdom stuff in them, so it promised to be exciting in spots like
these, though I felt that the particular bed board thing wasn't to my taste.  I
mean, we'd seen the doctor in the last place, and even had some sort of shots
that I'd figured were probably nanos to keep us healthy and maybe get our dicks
a bit more girth, so, what more was there to do to us that couldn't be done
reasonably fast, I thought?

Oh well, what the hell.  Another miserable night, and we'd be checked out and
probed and let loose to our little bungalows, I was guessing.  I did feel better
after having let go of a loaf, mainly lamenting the discovery from the women in
the morning.  Thus resigned, I slept much better.  In fact, I got a lot of
sleep, me guessing us well into the next afternoon when I started catnapping the
last of it away.  Then the lights hit me and the world changed for real.

FutureDomme  Chapter8

"Morning ladies!  Please say, "hello Ma'am," back in a resounding voice!" 
Screamed the same nurse that we'd seen the night before.  Her working shoes
clicked on the tile floor, an interruption to the silent misery of we men.

She was alone.  The lady had a bit of a homely face, and was a few pounds heavy,
and that wasn't with big tits, but hey, this was just a processing center, I
figured, and we'd come in so late that we were leftovers for late evening
finalization before departure to something better, I also figured.  Customer
service sucked - mostly if you were a late batch in this in-processing crazy
organization.  As for saying hello Ma'am, we all burst out as one, sort of
scared into it from her sudden and vociferous entry.

"Hello Ma'am!"  The electric shock hit our pricks and toes, and this one was
blindingly brutal due to the volume.

"Tuned to my voice, of course.  I, and most of my associates can say anything we
choose without frying your little clits.  Isn't that considerate of us to
program the unit in a way that relieves you from unnecessary discomfort?  I
assure you, we will be chatting among ourselves, so it does matter."

Nobody said a thing, most of us too numb to still be able, but all of us sure
that the question was a trap.

"Oh, so quiet.  I can see that our new rats are starting to learn rather
quickly; how discouraging; I do so much enjoy my wieners well done.  Oh well. 
It is the one thing we allow you - learning on the purely animal level.  You
will not speak; your opinions and discomfort are of no concern to us.  You see,
things have changed for you since your arrival.  I need not tell you about it at
all, things well in hand regardless of your informed minds, but it pleases me to
hear the sound of my voice and I am prone to come into the chamber for no other
reason than to talk with myself.  And, of course, to watch your eyes as you
suffer.  I mean, since it is one place that I'm sure to be left alone.  It is
the one place where I can talk to myself without worrying if anybody has heard
me."

Clearly she had little regard for us, I thought, but only after my mind got hit
with the realization that she was speaking as if she intended to keep us here
awhile.

"Let me begin by explaining a bit of law.  Since the mid 20th century, the Equal
Right's act has expanded.  First it was race, and then ethnicity and national
origin.  Women were begrudgingly added by the male race, much to its chagrin
since.  Then the long struggle for gay rights emerged, and was joined by
transsexual and transvestites.  One group was left out, namely, those who wished
to be free to engage in BDSM activities at its most complex edge.  Goth culture
had come to mid-life crisis, and the awful moral ineptitude of the right wing
counter-revolution was finally exposed.  After much struggle, the right to
declare oneself a slave to another became partial to the Equal Right's
Amendment, though through its own separate bill.  It was stipulated by court
rulings that such things not be taken lightly and that many exposures to
withdrawing contracts be a standard of approval of status.  As you might have
noticed; yesterday we allowed you many interviews and chances to withdraw from
the program."

I reflected back to the previous day and realized that we'd signed papers at
least twice, though I hardly knew it was an offer of withdraw that I'd been
signing away?  I suppose it could be seen that way though, assuming that some of
the wording on the unread contracts suggested such.  So, I was gathering from
the soliloquy that we'd been a little bit duped into accepting our brutality of
the previous evening and the ensuing near future in our visit to FemWorld.  It
was a bit of a harsh beginning by my standards, but I swallowed hard and
determined to make the best of it for the next week or two, regardless of having
been clearly jammed into something a tad more sadistic than anything other than
my web fantasies.  At least I felt assured that in a day or so I'd be
mainstreamed to some part of the resort that allowed me to play with that angel,
Lisa.  The nurse was speaking continually as I thought this, of course:

"Due to many court rulings, the status of a slave who has repeatedly
acknowledged a strong desire to refute free human status can ultimately liberate
the owner of certain obligations.  The courts have even accepted a
co-relationship with the Honorary Kavorkian Act of 2032, allowing an almost
limitless ownership right.  I mean, with the slavery act you can be tormented
and reduced to sub-human status, but coupled with the Kavorkian contract that
you have all signed in your personal interviews, we simply no longer have limits
places upon us regarding your disposition.  In fact, as far as the courts are
concerned, we are obliged to etherize you as your last willful request and they
see no problem with allowing you legal fantasy fulfillment in the process,
particularly since even prostitution is legal in some districts, such as this
one."

I almost gasped and did, inside.  I'd signed a Kavorkian contract?  They could
kill us all!  Lisa had put such a thing in front of me?  Surely this act was
overboard, I reasoned.  Lisa liked me and wouldn't have had me sign such a thing
without having me read the fine print.  I mean, we connected right off; I was
sure of it!

"Oh, don't look so miserable.  All of the men who enter our facilities sign
themselves away, and most live to tell about it; if and when we let them talk,
that is.  Contracts can get lost in files and our goals do not include killing
the entire male race.  It is, after all, all about your fantasy fulfillment here
at FemWorld.  For our part, we find so many uses for those who make it through
to a more stable position."  For some reason, she laughed briefly, perhaps at
her last clause that sounded a bit like their jingle.

I breathed a breath of relief.  So, it was a scare tactic after all, and she'd
implied some sort of ending fantasy fulfillment, moving on, peace, talking about
the adventure, that sort of thing.

"But, of course, you have been sent along a less publicized tract.  Out of every
few thousand, we take a hundred or so and use them for one of our pharmaceutical
research departments."

She walked up to the man beside me and grabbed hold upon one of his nipples.  My
eyes were swung over, me noticing that he had areolas the size of quarters and
the tits looked a bit puffy just under the nips as well.  She pulled the nipple
out a few centimeters.  She licked the nipple that had been captured in her
fingers, and then bent over, biting it sharply before letting it go.

"Coming along," she mused.  She stepped over in front of me, and touched my
nipples as well, my body shuddering in anticipation of some sort of torment. 
The lady put the fear of the Goddess into me when she reached down and grabbed
my electrode clamped dick and removed the clamp.  She started stroking my dick,
it very hot and turned on by the attention soon enough, but not really rising to
the occasion like I was expecting, and thus a bit embarrassing, considering that
the rest of the men were struggling to watch out of thirst for information more
than anything else.

She looked me right in the eyes, her head inches from my cage as she stroked my
dick.  "We have a nice sub-dick now.  Not much of a hard-on for you anymore, huh
pig.  What's the matter?  Can't get it up?  Oh, but not to worry.  It'll be nice
and hard when it gets to be the size of a nice little clit.  The balls all
sucked up inside, and who knows, maybe even a bit of a cunt for you; though
fuckings are probably going to be a bit like someone poking your balls with
every stroke of the cock.  You might want to avoid real men from now on.  How
deep they shrink inside is one of the things we're trying to find out from our
new lab rats with experimental nano class 75-B.  'A' was a total failure.  The
little balls only made it halfway in on those lab rats.  It was almost
impossible for the animals to walk like that, them popping in and out with every
step.  I'm afraid that we found the entire batch useless for any second
assignments.  We simply couldn't work them very long before they just keeled
over from pain and so we had to gas the entire lot."

I did gasp, all but myself getting a tiny shock for my noise (my dick had been
unplugged for the fondling).

"Uh-huh.  Well, look at the bright side.  The titties turned out fine and the
clit was perfectly female.  It was still a cock, and even had its little cums
when the prostate was properly milked, but the balls proved uncooperative.  I
said to the director that we should have just cut them out and we'd have made
good use of the leftovers for field work, but she was adamant that the cosmetic
tests had also made most of them too sickly to be worth the medical costs of
salvaging them for further assignments.  Such is a life of lab mutts in a world
with too many mutts without homes, I suppose."  She let my dick go, and put the
penis clamp back on before walking into the center of the room.

I couldn't help but look down, seeing my cock about as flaccid as ever in my
life.  My nuts felt both full and tight, as if the scrotum was shrinking. 
Looking around the room, all of the rest of the men had invisible balls and
peanuts for penises too, even shaved, not to mention small mounds with quarter
sized areolas on them.  Every nipple was darker than expected and hard as a
rock, and every cock a noodle.  Nobody spoke, but they all looked like death had
just walked by as we examined one another in a new light, all of us making the
same morbid discovery about our male packages.  Suddenly, almost as one, we were
looking at our own cocks and tits, finding ourselves like those around
ourselves.  This was no fun anymore, I realized, as if anything since entering
the mess hall the day before had been fun.

"So, you are forbidden from moving and speaking without direction.  Legally you
are all test animals now, and will be regarded as such.  Over the next few
months you all belong to me as we finish our nano development of your bodies
into the closest thing to female animals as our test research has yet to dive. 
We will also make use of our animals by subjecting half of you to chemical
testing on our latest experimental cosmetic formulas, while the placebo half
will be tested with known safe alternatives.  You will have the satisfaction of
knowing that your small and insignificant personal sacrifice is benefiting an
all female corporation while it saves valuable animals from the sort of
experimentation that can be more directly studied in something closer to a human
test animal.  And, of course, if you don't find that satisfying - excellent.  I
love tormented unwitting animals most of all.  Good day my little lab rats. 
We'll be seeing much more of one another."

She left us, immediately replaced by the two guards who came in to clean up our
pans and hose us all off.  When they scrubbed our bodies, it was with no more
care than the scrubbing of the tables we lay strapped to.  Food was stuffed into
our mouths in the form of bottles with large nipples and flat supports that
rested against our head cages near our lips.  We held the bottles up by lips
alone as we sucked out the milky mush inside.  We were watered the same way, and
then were laid more fully back by a guard cranking back the boards.  We were
still dripping from the hosing down when they left us to ourselves for another
dark half day.  Nobody spoke.  It was weird the way we were, ten bodies in one
room, only breathing dared, and with so many questions and complaints unsaid.  A
few men cried, their moans whispers.  The thing I felt most of all was the
feeling of my own body as I sensed my chest skin and breasts growing at bone
paining rates and my nuts shrinking tight up to my own body.  Those freaking
nanos were unbelievable workhorses, I knew from my reading on the new cosmetic
technology, but the ones they'd laced our bloodstream with were something
beyond.

The lady had shaken me with the revelations, primarily regarding nanos and
Kavorkian.  That part about being with her for months was probably a scare, I
guessed, knowing the limits to my vacation time.  As for the nanos, they'd
probably reverse in a day or so, this being only a small vacation and nanos
always less effective at putting things back, a rarity in design, so they'd have
to get started on changing us back well before the vacation was done.  I had no
insurance money for cosmetics, so it was only right that I was hoping they'd
give us some nanos to reverse the feminization stuff before we left.  Thinking
about it, it seemed like an almost perfect slave scaring femdom scene to me. 
They were good at raising the fear of god in us, me convinced that most of the
other guys had been sold on that fear factor.  I was scared and to be honest, a
bit uncertain about my guess that it was just a scene.  I mean, my tits ached
like a mother, far more than a small and reversible boob job suggested, and just
before the lights came on, I could feel my new numbed breasts shifting on my
horizontal chest, as if enough new skin and fat had finally arrived to cause the
boobs to sag over.  I'd never heard of nanos this fast.  Whatever was in the
nanos also was good at producing skin to accommodate; for that, at least, I was
thankful.

This whole scene though was just a complete horror, I understood.  It was an
almost non-participating thing, and I'd not even wanted this feminization part
to happen to me at all.  As for being a captive, it was an active captivity I'd
wanted, a little tickle and slap and then fun in the sack sort of thing, not
this complete immobilization and sadistic abuse.

Then I remembered how my ex-wife, Florence, and even my sister, had suggested
that they might be able to get me out of this somehow.  I'd been cocky, as if I
knew what I was heading into, and not been listening, and more importantly, not
inquired into what they knew that I didn't through my lack of investigative
passion.  Were they working behind the scenes in spite of my scoffing?  I hoped
so, and if so, I hoped they'd rush before my tits got so far out of control that
the nanos became irreversible and they'd find the male parts of me not worth
saving.  No, they'd save me, I thought, wanting it too much to think otherwise,
since I doubted I'd last two weeks of this before going insane.

FutureDomme  Chapter9

It was another evening gone, we knowing only by the fact that it seemed morning
people were coming to attend us; clean the pans, set us up with the tasteless
mush and drink.  IV stands were brought in, set beside us all and loaded with
bags of purple colored liquids.  Then, one by one, the nurse threaded a catheter
up each of our noses, and down into our throats.  Once the drip rate was set, I
could feel the cold liquid dripping deep into my esophagus.  Almost instantly,
my stomach burned, and I burped up what tasted like a strongly chemical soap.

Once done with the drip, working through our head cages, each of us had our
foreheads coated with a thick smear of a pink cosmetic that instantly dried to a
paste that only the brazen blackness of our branded numbers showed through.  On
each cheek, a purple and red cosmetic was smeared even thicker, like blush
patches on rag dolls.  They embarrassed us severely by a coating of what looked
like deep red fingernail polish on each of our noses.  The noses dried stiff as
plastic, and gave us all that clownish Rudolph look.  Then, a small plastic bag
of black powder was fitted around each of our shrinking genitals so that the bag
was stuck by elastics and the contents of powder acting like soil for our
implanted cocks and balls.  As a final act, holes were made in the bags,
allowing our penises to stick out, slight as they all seemed after a couple of
days of their horribly efficient cock shrinking nanos.  Those penises were then
re-clamped to the dreaded shocking chord.

"Good morning girls.  I can see that we have no complaints about the beginning
of our tests.  Now we have you each set up with our test chemicals in order to
determine their appropriateness in our newest line of cosmetics, including all
the nutrients and fluids you'll be needing for the remainder of your stay here
as our lab animals.  We've liberated you from the chore of eating and drinking. 
Now all you will have to do is piss and void.  Considering that, that is
automatic, it's best if you all just zone out and enjoy the rest.  No dining
halls, no pee-pee rooms for you here.

This will free our staff to administer to daily blood tests, urine, stool and
skin samples, and the usual readings of body signs in order to determine the
effects of the chemicals upon your useless male bodies.  We've made the chemical
components for the most severely treated animal, one hundred and thirty times
stronger than that found in our intended product lines, so, assuming we don't
have more than a couple of bad reactions, we'll be assured of a cosmetic line
that will not harm any of our customers.  Of course, the internal consumption of
the chemicals is expected to have some adverse results, as we have varied the
amount greatly from animal to animal.  We are trying to determine how much
chemical is safe for our lipstick line for the superior female consumer.  Oh,
and half of you are luckily in the placebo group, which should be of some
comfort.  But, don't worry, you are all still of great scientific value as you
are all under study; as we have let our new line of nanos loose on you and they
should be done working much sooner than the cosmetic study.  I'm personally very
excited to find out the results of both experiments and can't wait until the six
month study has finished its course."

She then took her tools away, leaving us to ourselves.  I was at a loss, what to
think?  Even though I was technically not using the top half of my esophagus, I
smelled the chemicals in my throat, and soon even tasted them on my tongue.  In
an hour's time, I was shitting the mess, it wrecking havoc with my digestive
system.  When I pissed, it burned; suggesting to me that either I wasn't in the
placebo group, or they were sadistic enough to have laced the placebo group with
unpleasantries of our own.  Judging from the rest of the guys, we all burned
when we pissed, so I remained clueless.

Once in awhile, someone shifted, trying the impossible: To get comfortable. 
Powder sifted out of the plastic bags that coated our balls, but the very
efficient ventilation system whisked it away, thankfully, sparing us clouds of
that smell.

It struck me that this seemed pretty real.  I mean to say that the nanos were
clearly the real thing, each of us having grown a sagging set of breasts that
were pushing B cups by the next morning.  If nothing else, it was drudgery.  I
had nothing to do but watch us all growing tits and dealing with our discomfort
through creative facial gesture.  The women came in, and tested us, taking off
chemicals, shooting photos and scraping skin samples under the layers of
cosmetics.  Then we were refitted, and left to sulk in our misery, day after
day.  By the end of two weeks, we all had breasts the size of small melons, the
skin sagging so much that we didn't even have the comfort of being able to call
ourselves pert.  More like natural breasts, I'd say, the nanos going for that
big breasted, middle-aged housewife look, from the appearance of it.  Most of us
were D-cups, but a couple of the guys were one step beyond.

Then, one morning, I looked down, and my plastic bag of black powder had fallen
off of my nuts.  They came in and inspected me first, feeling around.  I could
feel them probing my balls, but not until their hands seemed literally within
me.  After that, they simply taped a pad of powder to my crotch, the others soon
to follow.  Worse than the feeling that my balls were being sucked up inside of
me, my cock was the size of a peanut.  I'd look down between the cleavage of my
double-D breasts and see nothing but a spike that was only twice the size of my
growing and aching nipples.

By the end of the month, I was worried.  Only occasionally did they take one of
us out and walk us in full body chains around in a spare room, smacking us along
with their little crops and only chatting among themselves, we just a job and
well trained not to speak or even lift our animal eyes from the ground.  Then it
was right back into the lab without even a second to breathe before the
catheters were reinserted and makeup reapplied.

No end in sight, and my vacation time at work had long been over.  I'd certainly
be fired if I didn't at least call in an explanation, but speaking seemed
impossible, and time went by and then I just resigned myself to the fact that I
no longer had a job.  In this day and age, that hurt, men being last in line for
even menial appointments.

A few of the guys had tried to speak, and it had earned us all horrible shocks. 
The probe still got clipped to our penises every day, even though the big clamps
had, had to be replaced with smaller ones held on by piercing common safety
pins.  Clearly there's been a mistake, and we'd been held longer than what I
imagined had been our original contract.

I felt ill as well.  I had blood test tracks all up my arm.  I'd grown new
callus where parts of my head cage nudged me constantly.  My body ached, my
stomach constantly churned, and bedsores were all over my back.

In general, my body was changing, constantly feeling a reverse sort of growing
pain I'd not felt since puberty and in places no man had ever felt.  I had
nothing much for a cock, no balls at all, except for the pains of them being
pulled up into my gut where they were so deep that I couldn't even see them.  My
breasts never seemed to end growing, my hair no longer grew except on my head
and at my triangular pussy patch.  Judging from the other guys, the skin and
body changes included receding Adam's apple, widening hips, peachy soft
complexions, a considerable reduction in height and weight, and just generally
femaleness.  The guy just across from me didn't even look like the guy I'd been
strapped across from a month earlier; more like his college aged sister, I
imagined.  In fact, looking at my fellow lab rats got me hard, only conceptually
speaking of course.

With the waiting as animals, came the denial as well.  Undoubtedly, the female
hormones and wonderland nanos had made me more woman than man, but I was a
lesbian, wanting that fair creature across the way as she lay strapped naked
upon the board losing her masculinity and sprouting tits so ripe that I
salivated from my endless denial.

As for the experiment, a couple of the men were clearly in distress.  Sweats
broke out on them every day, and I could even see boils brewing up on one man's
stomach.  Finally a team of female doctors came in to examine the worst one of
them, much to my relief.  Something in the experiment was going terribly wrong,
I sensed, and it was about time that someone took notice.  Maybe, even, they'd
check the records and see that we'd all been here too long.  I have to tell you,
it had been absolutely no fun, and I'd not sign up for an extension, as would
none of my co-vacationers.  What were they thinking, doing us up like this, was
beyond me.  It certainly didn't bode well for return business; that's for
certain.  None of us would return for a future vacation, I could tell just by
looking at the continual misery upon all of the faces.

Instead of curing the ill man, however, they made lots of noise about how well
the nanos were doing, and how much they'd expected his distress due to having
been the one given the most chemical of the non-placebo group.  Then they just
left, no cure, no drugs, no hospital for him; just more suffering and that
murderously chemical laced catheter still down that man's throat.

The month turned into two, three, four, five, and then six, me counting, it the
only thing to do as we watched one another sicken from disuse, abuse and changes
so complete that I could see pussies with deep slits where balls had been
between every last pair of legs.  The tits had stopped growing, not a C cup in
the room beyond those of a few of the guards.  All of these Ds and double Ds
sagged too, not at all like implants, but more like breasts you'd find on a
fully grown thirty year old woman who'd been sucked at a time or two too many. 
When one or two of us chanced a whimper, it came out higher pitched and full of
emotions that no man alive would admit to.

And then it happened.  A pair of nurses came around to collect the tubes of
blood and found the one worst man white, unmoving and even unresponsive to her
prods.  "This one is about to go.  Let's go ahead and take him while we can
recover some of the undamaged organs," Declared the head nurse.

The guards came in to help them, and after putting him onto a rolling gurney,
paused just long enough to look at the second worst man.  He was ill, but still
lucid, though that didn't stop the head nurse from adding, "We'll go ahead and
harvest this one too; as soon as we process this one."

The second nurse added, "It's much better if we take them while the donors are
still alive, makes for a better organ that we might even be able to strengthen
with nanos, and it gives us all the time we need to track down the women in need
of the products.  When you start off with the small stuff, eyes, kidney, skin
grafts, everything stays fresh in the body right up to the last couple of
things."

A guard noted, "This one won't be much good for kidney's though; I think we've
ruined them in this experiment."

"Yeah, that's probably true, unless we start some recovery and can get a nod for 
a desperate need," corrected the head nurse.  They chatted all the way out the
room.

The second ill man moaned in shock, sending shocks to us all, but he was beyond
feeling them as we were, knowing his fate as an organ donor and perhaps even
hoping that some lively display might convince the women that he wasn't as sick
as he'd looked for months as they came to get him anyway, having to strap him
down tighter than the near corpse they'd wheeled out earlier.

"Now keep still, animal, or we'll do these organs once a week in stead of as
demand calls!"  Screamed the guard.

The man still fidgeted, realizing how little he had to lose.  They'd taken the
man's electronic wiring off of him to move him.  The man started adding a scream
or two, putting the rest of us in constant pain from the shocks.

"Let him complain.  I'll do a lobotomy first thing and put an end to it straight
away," declared the head nurse as they wheeled him out still screaming.

With that, a couple of the other men who looked like they weren't in the placebo
group either, fidgeted, reminded me of the earlier days when we all fidgeted,
and telling me that we'd all changed a lot because that old spirit had been so
noticeably crushed in the rest of us, by contrast.

A few days later, we all were given a much more thorough physical examination,
and one by one, led out in chains.  Between each man was a good hour's wait, and
the worst of us had been led out first.  I felt soft, weak, thinned to ninety
pounds, and when stood, top heavy with my huge tits and dramatically reduced
crotch.  It was a whole different body that I wore.  I felt as if I were leaning
back to compensate, least my back get sore from the weight of some stranger's
knockers as they sagged and swayed with every movement of my chaining and
prepping for that next room.  They moved me with but fingers, them now stronger
than I by far.  I'd not been a weakling before, but clearly I was now.  Maybe it
was the organ donation room next, I worried, but in spite of how badly I felt,
I'd guessed myself lucky enough to be a placebo, judging from the numbers they'd
steadily plotted on my chart.

As I stood there at the door (the next to last man to be stood at it), I pissed
and then realized that I'd have to re-potty-train myself if I were lucky enough
to see the end of this vacation.  That is, of course, if the next room wasn't
the organ donation room, which, considering that I felt like trash, had been
totally emasculated, and was certain that I no longer had a job, I thought might
be a blessing; maybe my next reincarnation would be as a woman, them apparently
the new master race.

I was suddenly outside the door, and outside the building, the noon sun and
non-air conditioned air spanking my naked and chained body.  There, a welder
stood, and she patiently unwelded my head cage without showering too many
sparks, dropping the cage into a box when freed.  A second woman put a small
paper mask over my forehead, and with some kind of spot burner, flashed another
searingly painful brand onto my forehead, just to my left of center.  A pickup
was backed toward us, and before I got in I looked at the sideview and saw that
my burning branded number had changed from 479-874-199-LR to 479-874-199-LR-HM. 
The face was more startling than the brand, however, my lips were three times
the fullness I'd remembered them, and my face smooth, without cheekbones, almost
like Oral Annie, and that was without makeup.  In fact, my face seemed very
round indeed, almost featureless, a thing that made me look quite young, very
pleasing to the eye, and mostly, plain of thought; almost dull of wit by look
alone.

Once in the back of the open pickup, the guards unlocked all of my chains.  One
of them put a note on a slip of paper and handed my entire folder to me.

I could hardly believe that I'd been set free from the lab and was without
chains.  I'd grown to think that nobody got out of that alive.  Anything by
comparison seemed total freedom.  I could even breathe again, taking in the air
like it was wine.

A particularly staid lady said, "The truck will take you to your next assignment
location for reassignment.  Do exactly as told, and do not look into your
folder; you are being trusted, don't mess this up.  You are FemWorld property,
and that folder is as well.  Besides, it is against company policy for slaves to
read or in any way to assume an education.  Congratulations; you are no longer a
lab animal, HM 199.  You've moved up to bimbo recruit status.  We are very proud
of you."

Bimbo recruit?  The vacation had to be over by now, didn't it?  I seemed to be
channeling into another womanly thing, and me having only shown a small interest
in transies in my web travels.  I needed a new job as a bartender or something,
so I could meet up with that dish, Lisa.  She'd help me.  I knew that I'd
changed, half my weight, a couple inches shorter, almost perfectly female in
anatomy, but nanos could be reversed, couldn't they?  It seemed like a whole lot
to add back, and who knows what it would end up making if it tried, but I'd held
out some hope of getting back to my life, particularly when I'd realized myself
a placebo group person and that they were moving us on.  Would Lisa like me as
this, this, this, completely different person?  OH, Goddess, I was naked and a
bimbo, I suddenly realized; outside, where men could gawk at me.  I definitely
had no interest in men gawking at me!

The graduation ceremony from animal to bimbo wannabe apparently done, my truck
lurched away from the curb, naked bimbo in the open bed.  Sans anything I'd call
human strength, I fell to the floor and banged my smooth, full bimbo hips on the
tailgate.  I was soon on all fours, in the back of a rattling and unstable
pickup, racing across the grounds and watching the buildings blur by.  Finding
all fours, my utters flopped, me like I was some kind of cow being moved from
one farm to the next.

The view wasn't encouraging.  The grounds were crowded with buildings though, as
if we were a self contained small city of warehouses and work-farms.  An
occasional man or two, naked and working on weeds or moving things about was
mostly what we passed.  They'd chance a slave's brief glance up at the passing
truck and their eyes lit up at the sight of a naked broad with hangers the size
of melons being shuttled in the pickup like livestock.  I hid most of me in one
arm and a hand, but clearly they'd not seen a naked woman in some time, the
guards and overseers all very well dressed in uniforms and such in this one
sided FemWorld.  Even a few scantily, but protectively dressed male roofing crew
members were passed, them burning up in the sun with a fully dressed guard
sipping lemonade in an umbrella covered lawn chair below.  It was easy for them
to glance down and see the naked female struggling for balance in the open
pickup below.

It struck me that I seemed the only man in the yard without a single guard or
chain or shock device hanging on me.  In a way, I was completely free, save for
the fence that I could see running across the horizon beyond the many barns,
buildings, residences and yard activities.  Of course, I increasingly doubted if
I'd ever be free of my newfound embarrassment.  Would men always see me this
way, even if I gained clothing?  Reflecting back at how I saw things as a man,
it seemed likely.  I didn't want to be undressed by men's eyes, and for more
reasons than most women had, I understood.

We stopped at a massive stone house that was set against one of several very
tall near-skyscrapers located in that section.  It was strange to see a few
peaks of tall city buildings off, just beyond this particular wall that this
mansion abutted.  Most of that was obscured by other warehouse or factory type
units, but other than the ornate mansion architecture, I had the feeling as if I
was in some sort of city that this walled off complex abutted.  The mansion,
white columns and tall windows, and several floors was so big up close that it
hid the factory and city landscaping it abutted once up close to it though.  On
the prison side of that wall, the side I was in, the mansion stuck out in the
otherwise low skill workforce architecture surrounding it.  I got out when the
driver lowered the tailgate and nodded for me to follow.

Instead of moving up the five steps to the wide back door of the house's main
floor, we walked around to the side.  There was a vegetable garden.  A couple of
women in full black dresses, aprons, bonnets and white gloves were watering the
garden from a sprinkler can.  It was odd to see women working at manual jobs, I
thought, as I was led through a side door that was so small I had to duck to get
beyond.  Women didn't even do manual jobs anymore in the free world.  Over the
top of the door had been the sign, 'MAID ENTRANCE'.  That was my first clue to
what the HM part meant to my new number name of 479-874-199-LR-HM.  I looked at
the women in the garden again, and it occurred to me that they might be altered
like I'd been, but then they were hard to read until they moved, giving
themselves away as not naturally women, and of course, that scared me most of
all, because I was at the gate of the place upon which that garden tending sat.

Almost as confirmation, one looked up at me and that kneeling gardener's eyes
got stuck upon my breasts for most of a minute before they fell to my pussy.  I
ducked into the lee of the entrance and hid my female parts in shame.

FutureDomme  Chapter10

I was joined by another naked womanlike man in an hour's time, and then a third
in a few more minutes.  I'd not seen any of these men, but both of them had head
brands that ended in FS.  I tried to figure that out, coming up with Female
Slave, Farm Slave, Factory slave.  I knew all to be possible, this complex
clearly full of both cramped dorms and fully functional businesses.  I could see
old time smokestacks, and I'd even seen a line or two of naked men being
shuffled into one factory-like building on my way over.  I couldn't imagine how
much money these women were making with all of this free labor.

Anyway, we, the three of us, were made to stand, completely unguarded, at the
Maid entrance for awhile longer before being shuffled inside the low and common
back door.

As I turned in, last to enter, I yearned to be back home, a man, with a real
dick, and off to my sister's to meet that girl, Ellis I believe, she'd said she
wanted to introduce me to.  Or even taking on the offer from my ex to shack up
and take a common job as her handyman seemed acceptable, under the
circumstances.  At least it paid, and she'd maybe even let me keep myself housed
in her granny house.  It's humiliating taking on a job from an ex, but
comparatively speaking ....

Anyway, I had, had lots of time to reflect, and almost anything was better than
this.  So, why did I wait and not try to escape?  For one, I knew that the women
in charge had seen it all before; I'd not escape easily.  Further, I'd already
been a lab rat, and been put down as a Kavorkian candidate, compared to that,
anything was escape, even slavery.  And, of course, if I tried to run, they
could sell my body off as parts, and they would if I was trouble, I knew.  Shit,
whatever was in the door I was ducking into was sure to be better than being
hunted down and slaughtered for eyeballs and kidneys.  I knew that it was better
than being a test animal.  Hell, I walked in eagerly.

Then, as I let my eyes adjust to the lesser light of the room, it struck me that
my ex-wives and my sister knew where I was, or could at least try to find out. 
My sister did care about me, and my one ex, Florence, might want to look me up
too.  Even that counselor, Lisa, well, she'd seemed like she liked me....  Once
I got clear of the hopelessly controlled lab, they might make an appearance and
get this mistake taken care of for me.  All I needed was an agent to rectify the
error of making my vacation into a holy nightmare!

"Morning ladies, my name is Madam Cloe.  When I've taught you how to speak, you
may simply call me Madam," was the first thing the severe looking woman said as
she paced in front of us with our folders in her mitts.  She passed within
inches of the three of us, we three unadorned in any fashion other than our
brands, naked as the day we were born; well, not exactly as we were born, but
naked none-the-less.  We stood side by side, touched and remained connected,
each on one of the five white X's facing an old, wood veneer desk in a small,
dingy, back room that was adorned by hung mops, brooms and one overhead bulb.

"I am to congratulate each of you for excelling and success at your previous
temporary assignment; your excellent marks in tests and in internet activities,
as well as your excellent physical development.  All of this has earned you the
right to step up to a much steadier position as your next assignment, as one of
our Hotel Maid candidates.  Believe me, this is a job entrusted to only our most
deservedly patient slaves.  Though you will never fully achieve female status,
we do consider imitation to be better than the disgusting male package.  Of
course, all of our guards, teachers and guides here, like well over half of the
general female population, are nano enhanced lesbians, so appearances,
superficial or not, help enormously in how you are viewed."

"The first step in that program is what we affectionately refer to as our Bimbo
Wannabe programming and of course, appearances and profiles.  You all have a
wonderful head start as, I must say, surprisingly successful subjects for our
nano technologies.  One of you, in fact, was a test subject for our latest model
of nano."

She looked at me, and lifted my right nipple with the same finger that had
pointed us to our X's.  Letting it go after an inch of lifting, my breast
warbled like the succulent jug it most certainly had become.  A good quarter of
my much starved and nano-altered body weight must have been contained within the
fat of my knockers.  The other two men secretly broke protocol and glanced over
at my breast as well, neither of them more than a B cup; making my double D's
obscene by comparison.  She smiled, and added, "It is amazing that the cat
brings in ... usually."

The lecturing woman was wearing a dark grey suit, not quite of the tailor of a
business dress, but almost;  white socks, black, sensible shoes with reflective
quality.  She seemed more Sergeant, like a butler, perhaps, in this enormous
mansion that I found myself assigned.  I'd been told to wait outside by
something much tinier than this two hundred pounds of fully wrapped, fifty year
old, thin-lipped woman who had finally allowed the three of us in when the other
two had arrived.  We'd been shown the X's with an authoritative finger, and
we'd, of course, figured out that the proper stance was attention.

"Now, I do understand that the cat has also had your tongue for the past few
months, and I personally feel that this alone has set each of you at an
advantage over those who come to us from the regular ranks as a first
assignment.  You will pass many of those in your duties here, but pay them no
mind, it is my responsibility to see that they are as quiet and obedient by
nature as you older girls.  And, for those rare moments when a response is asked
of you, we'll be soon teaching you all of the words that you'll find useful in
your next line of employment.  We'll start this job like any other; with the
paperwork ... oops, I'm sorry, you've all filed everything we need, it appears. 
Oh yes, very nice, we have all that we need indeed to do as we wish," she said,
having been glancing at our folders from the time we'd arrived.

They had us mute and all signed up for whatever they wanted; I'd already found
out that when I'd been introduced as a lab rat six months earlier.  I'd been
frightened that I'd not make it out of that alive, and so, with an odd sense of
both fear of losing my last ounce of masculinity, and with hope born on the
knowledge that some fates are worse, I endured the realization that I was now
stuck in yet another trial.  It all made me clammy to think that I seemed
continually too scared to even think about objecting to the authoritative woman
addressing us and introducing us into yet another seemingly long term project of
self removal from our whole sense of identity and dignity.

I was on the far right, near the now locked and tiny wooden side door.  The skin
of the woman-slash-man to my left was smooth, clammy and starting to match mine
in sweat.  I'd stolen glances too, and was amazed to note that he still had the
most of a dick; four or so flaccid inches in fact, and with the hint of a pair
of exposed balls; the new nanos I'd been given were indeed far better at
reducing my manhood; my dick was almost nonexistent, my balls sucked into my
body several inches, and from the feel of them, probably as mushy and minor as
anything else I could imagine inside of a pussy.  My penis (or was it a clit?)
was an inch at best, on the rare occasion that it woke up and found its way
outside of my triangular pussy patch.  That's not to say that I didn't get horny
even while flaccid.  Hell, I'd been constantly horny and unrelieved since I'd
arrived.  Still, in present company, men who still had most of a wiener and
women who seemed intent upon extracting every last shred of masculinity out of
us, sex was far more of a threat than a promise for me, I understood.

The other men, still mostly men, had stolen glances at me since we'd been lined
up outdoors, and they made me more uncomfortable than the Mistresses.  Of course
that made sense, since I'd been one of the first new nano recipients and thus,
very successfully changed.  As for the guys, they'd not been laid since getting
here either, I assumed, and the only naked pussy in this outfit appeared to be
me.  In fact, reflecting back to my one glance at my own reflection, I was about
the most attractive looking women I'd seen since arriving.  I even wanted to
fuck me.  It even struck me that with my hands free I might even be able to fuck
me, given that my dick hovered mostly hidden in a stripper's patch of hair and
right over my new testicle retracted pussy.  Thinking that weird and perverted
thought sent me into another tailspin of self loathing when it also occurred to
me that my dick wasn't even long enough to do that, in spite of the short, one
inch reach it would need to make the journey.

Someone could tell me to go fuck myself, and I'd have to answer then, "I want
to, but I can't."

With so many of the women letting themselves be advertised into taking nanos and
becoming lesbians, everyone here was sure to be into women.  At no time since my
arrival did I covet clothing more.  The other men had been feminized, sure, but
one look at the crotch told otherwise - not true in my case, I thought with much
shame.

"Right this way, girls," demanded the stately butler-like Madam Cloe.  We
followed into a much larger room, this one with a blackboard on the wall and
several chairs that had been shoved aside so that we had a bit of a floor.

"You may stand at ease in a row.  I trust that you airheads can manage without
markings on the floor.  Now, clasp one hand with the other, fingers interlaced,
relaxed at your lap, heads slightly down, but eyes attentive.  Very nice.  I can
already tell that our resource people were correct in assigning you to us; you
were almost certainly maids in a pervious life.  Of course, back then they
didn't have hotel cleaning specialists and foreign women doing the jobs; but
actual American women who did these services for minimum wage.  One can hardly
imagine the barbarity of such a thought as imposing such a thing upon a valuable
lady when we might have caught on decades earlier.  I mean, after all, we have
always had a majority vote, should we have been eager to use it.  You three are
to be throwbacks, however; properly outfitted maids, and how one carries oneself
is of utmost importance in any station in life."

I'd held out hope for better, but there we had it; maids.  I was red from
hearing it spelled out so plainly.  Perhaps I should have escaped when I was
outside?

"First of all, I shall teach you your vocabulary.  It's simple really, as are
most duties done by our maids.  We will start with "Yes Madam," "Sorry, Madam,"
"Thank you Madam," and unfortunately, an occasional, "Yes Sir," or, "No Sir,"
and "Thank you Sir."  You might notice the difference.  A maid is never to say
no to a member of the superior sex, but since men are sometimes not bright
enough to understand anything but a direct no, we allow it in that case.  Shall
we practice our maid vocabulary?"  She paused, "I didn't hear a response?"

We trickled out, "Yes Madam," my voice cracking right off the bat from lack of
use for six full months.  I even felt myself shrinking at the knees, expecting
the shock that didn't come due to me being completely unelectrified and
unrestrained.

"Yes Madam," she said, we responding better.

"Sorry Madam," she continued.

"Too loud HM-199," she chided, slashing me on the hip with a meter long switch. 

"Too softly, HM-102," she added to the man beside me, hitting him harder.

"Not deferential enough, HM-565.  Bend over," she told the last man, laying on
ten horizontal stripes that even using peripheral vision I could tell were going
to be pink for several days.

Done with that, we all concentrated much more as she led us into our language
drills several times around.  It amazed me how high all of our voices had
become.  Mine, in fact, was positively pixy; I'd not expected that, the last
time I'd heard it had been pre-nano.  Perhaps it was just dry, I wondered, but
found it not the time for testing as I tried my best to please and be demure, a
thing that a pixy voice only enhanced.  When she was pleased, we sounding like a
perfectly tuned choir of three and no outstanding voice, she went on to lesson
two:

"Now for walking.  Since you are imitating and striving toward employment as
ancient female maids, you will be required to exaggerate the qualities found in
such shameful representatives of the superior sex.  By that, I mean, walking
with sway and proper hand gesture.  There needs to be just the proper amount of
teasing jiggle in your hooters.  Alright ladies, arms down to the sides and
relaxed.  Now, leaving the elbows roughly at your sides, lift the foremost arms
and lift at the wrist.  Palms facing the floor, fingers up even more than the
hands and somewhat apart.  Little finger out more than most.  Little fingers,
little fingers; yes.  Now, holding that pose, try to make it look relaxed,
natural, like you haven't even passed a thought, it being the natural walk of a
born bimbo."

I was mortified.  I'd have liked my hands over my crotch a lot more.  This was a
virtual invitation for others to look at me naked, as if by pointing gay fingers
outward I was actually pointing inward, straight at my pussy.

"When you walk, pretend you are walking on a single line and let your body move
from side to side as you do so.  Let's all turn to the right, and start walking
in circles around me.  Go ahead, walk.  Oh, goodness no, slut 102.  Relax those 
hips.  Breathe.  This should feel normal for airhead maids.  This is how you
walk - not a gymnastics exercise.  It's walking.  It's simple.  It's perfectly
sissy.  Come on, sissies.  Sissy, sissy.  Primp for your Mistress.  Purse those
lips.  Sway the hands just a little.  Fingers up!  Make those peckers rise as
you walk by your Mistress's boy.  Everybody loves a sissy.  Make those steps
sweet as candy.  Smooth.  No eyes should have to nod as your pussy passes. 
Dainty now.  Tits and ass on parade.  Pucker those lips; need I tell you
everything about how to be a proper bimbo?  Come on; get into it 102!"

She slashed HM-102, him just ahead of me and not at all good at it.  The most
manly of us all, he still had a square ass, and mostly just reminded me of a gay
man who had made himself up to look ridiculous.  I could make out enough of
myself to understand that I, conversely, made no such impression at all.  Even
naked enough to find the flaws, it seemed to me that I was a walking slut on
parade!  To Madam Cloe I was just a bimbo, walking sexy, like on one of those
old Vegas floor show disks I'd once looked at.  Posing for the jeers.  With
HM-102 they'd be yelling, "Put it on!"  With me it'd be, "Come over here bitch
and sit on my drunk cock!"  I was both elated that she didn't once have to slash
me for walking poorly, and humiliated that, even though I often relaxed more
than comfortable due to being tired, she never once found me male enough to
slash either.

As for tiring, I was exhausted.  I'd been laying in a lab for six months, and
been dizzy just getting up in the morning.  Now I'd waited out the door, stood
at attention while lectured, and been asked to go bimbo walking for my
instructress.  The dizziness was returning fast, me figuring that I had minutes
before I'd swoon and pass out like the dizzy weakling I was.

"OK.  I can see that we need more practice, but first let's get our new maids
onto something less stressful - it being a big day for you all, I'm sure."  We
pranced into a third room that most humiliating since it struck us that prancing
into the next room like that reflected the new reality that our walk was more
than a passing humiliation.  Good thing nobody was around to see us prancing
like fags in a floorshow.

In the next room we were there seated in three of the five swivel seats in front
of sinks.  Three ugly maids walked in and started on each head of hair, ours
having grown quite long and unkempt in our lengthy stay.  I noticed how tall
each of them were, and the size of their hands.  Dressed in orange dresses with
plastic aprons to ward off the water and chemicals of hairdressing, these seemed
not prime meat; clearly males in drag; maybe most primitively nanoed to a point
of being unpassable as any sex.

Each of us was colored platinum blond, trimmed, curled, and then sat at the
hairdryers.  There at the dryers, they even had the New Cosmo magazine, the
hairdressers instructing us to read them.  Madam Cloe was on break, so with
hesitation I picked mine up, a bit miffed at having been told to do so by the
drones.  I found my eyes racing over the stories, ads and pictures, the brain
having been starved for anything stimulating.  Apparently we'd voted in a new
President who was very fashion conscious.  Her First Lady was a guy who liked
pink ruffled shirts, one ad told me.  It was disgusting, me thinking that the
First Man was nothing but a showpiece for fashion.

FemWorld had two ads in Cosmo, one up front showing a smiling man kissing the
thigh of one of the most sensuous looking women I'd ever seen; clearly a
computer face fab on her.  He seemed happy, as I would be under such passive
domination.  In back it was a full page, featuring all sorts of jobs that
appealed to me, including what they called animal training and maid fantasy, as
if it were just a thing one did for a weekend outing, play a little doggie and
dress-up.  Deceptive as hell, I had finally come to understand.  I eagerly put
the Cosmos down when we'd all been properly dried, uncurlered and fluffed.

They finished me up with a powder and some liner and lipstick, and set us in
line at the same door we'd come in at, the three male maid hairdressers
departing with no more than one whisper into my ear saying, "You're a hot one,
baby."

I looked over at the hairdresser and noticed a bulge in his skirt.  It occurred
to me that the hairdresser were pure gay.  I felt like running out of the room
that he was leaving anyway, saving me the risk.  Was he a risk?  Could he molest
me without winning the wrath of the Goddesses?  Here had been this trans
hairdresser, fixing my face and hair and he had been gawking at my boobs and
pussy like I was candy on a stick ready to be licked while I'd been absorbed in
my own problems and inattentive.  The hairdresser's lips, red as mine, but on a
less nano-feminized face, seemed to glisten with saliva as she'd worked.  It was
a rare moment that I wished for the return of the sadistic butler-like overseer,
Madam Cloe, and of course, I felt much better with him gone, even if it did mean
that we were unsupervised and made to wait in yet another line for more
unknowns.

I remembered my training and folded my hands over my cock.  Using my little
finger to touch myself, I felt instantly erect, though looking down at it I
didn't see much of a change other than the hardening of my inch and maybe how it
seemed a bit more red.  What would Madam Cloe think if she saw my dick red
though, I wondered, willing my dick to relax, and mostly losing.

Madam Cloe collected us, taking us to what smelled and felt like a back room off
of some main kitchen.  We were sat at a plain wooden table in plain wooden seats
and a maid came in with plates and cups.  The cup was water, and the food bland,
but to me it was a challenge eating what little they'd offered.  I'd not eaten
in six months, and had to retrain my throat.  Each bite took too long to chew. 
My jaw ached and my throat felt raw.  Them my stomach started to churn, me
wondering if the time as a lab rat had ruined something along the way.

FutureDomme  Chapter11

Walking in, in a rush, Madam Cloe yelled, "Come girls.  We have a temporary
assignment. New trainees are the easiest to assign at short notice, so I'm sorry
for the rush, but we have need for three straightway.  It will be like this for
awhile until you are well into training.  New girls are just easier to shuffle
into quick needs, and besides, that's often how the households use their
servants as well.  Good training, all.  Hurry along.  Hurry, hurry.  Don't
forget your fingers and pursed lips; no straying eyes!  No noises to upset the
household.  Good sissies just react and make themselves quickly useful."

We were given a hurried moment alone in an off bathroom to freshen up, do our
constitution and teeth, my first luxury other than the leisurely hair drying in
months, though it was a brief couple of minutes in the midst of our rush.  Then
it was back to hurrying, marched through what must have been several service
halls, them unadorned by more than studs and pipes, but clearly back of the wall
to some sort of much better apportioned rooms.

Near the end was a bin, out of which the Mistress took some wiry metal
contraptions and set each into our mouths.  Like braces, one wire worked over my
outside top gum and the other fit over both the inside and outside of my bottom
gum as well.  Once in place, the braces nearly vanished behind lips.  Madam Cloe
opened our jaws wider with a few twists of a screwdriver, as if we were all at
some sort of dentist device, which I suppose we might have been.

Next, a second screw was cranked, this one moving the bottom set of wires
outward, giving us each two inches of severe underbite.  It was quite a strain,
taking some getting used to and definitely humiliating.  The whole deal reminded
me of pictures I'd seen of women in one African tribe who had a custom of
putting rings in their bottom lips that made their lower jaw stick out like some
sort of cup holder.  I looked at my fellow maid companions, knowing how
ridiculous we all must look as we stood, being manipulated, with fingers clasped
in front as instructed earlier, not a rebellious bone among us.  Then a thick,
stiff and four inch tall collar was put around our necks, making us stiff as
boards for heads and sort of have to look up forty-five degrees or so.  To that,
the Mistress attached a pair of non-pointed hooks into our nostrils and
stretched the rubber bands they were connected to over our new hairdos, latching
the bands to the back of our collars.

Bottom lip jutting, and nose yanked up like a pigs snouts, I was the first to be
shown the tiny door about navel level in one wall.  She bid me to kneel, and
then shoved my head through the opening, closing each side of the circular
panels bracing the opening so that my neck was sealed into the wall.  From the
sound, she padlocked the door sealed.  Amazingly, my head was inside of some
sort of meeting room.  My body was banished, knees on concrete floor, a slight
breeze and very vulnerable feeling.

A thick, polished rectangular table dominated the room, along with its eight
staid, years of polish chairs.  I was at one end, nearest a closed oak door,
between seats side one and door end one.  Up front at the other end of the
table, a conference phone sat, along with some sort of small, conveniently at
hand audio-visual screen.  Coasters sat in a tiny coaster tray.

Next thing I knew, another ten inch square opening happened in the same wall
down along my side, but at the far end of the table.  One of my companion's
heads was shoved through.  He looked frightened, and then surprised to be in a
small conference room, sort of with me.  It struck me that the neck-brace
matched the wall, making us seamless right up to the head.  Then, two minutes
later, another small hole opened across on the opposite wall, dead center to the
broad table.  So, there were to be two of us along this wall, and one of him
middling opposite; kind of an odd, but workable symmetry.

Madam Cloe came into the room after a delay, four glasses in hand.  She was
guiding a tall maid who brought in a pitcher of iced water and a vase of
flowers.  This maid looked well smoothed out in complexion, almost as good as
me, but with slight tale-tell male signatures to her bends as she worked, I
realized.  The male maid definitely showed no sign of recognizing us or of his
own personality, unlike the rather rudely forward behavior of the hairdressers. 
We were either not her concern, or common.  Was that what they had in mind for
us, I wondered, simple, mindless service?  And, of course, why were we common,
though feeling so oddly disposed?

Our hair was fluffed by Madam Cloe as if we were floral arrangements.  The
fluffing hid most of the rubber band holding our now tender snouts.  She left
the hair over our eyes a bit, and through my curls I could see the effect on my
two co-heads.  Though quite different in the flesh, we all had a sort of
impersonal look about us, bimbo hair that half covered our faces, the faces
actually beginning at pig snouts and then all bottom lip; we were flesh, but
nearly not human looking in a way.

Even speaking would be a problem, though I doubted it permitted, and Madam Cloe
set that straight just before she left by sternly warning, "There are to be some
meetings today, and thus the need for the services of some sissies.  I don't
know who has scheduled the room, nor is it my business.  It certainly isn't
yours and anything you hear in here will not be processed in your tiny brains. 
Understood?"

Three heads nodded as best the neck braces would allow.

"I'll call for the maximum punishment allowed for a new girl if any of you as
much as speaks a sentence prior to your release from this duty, or regarding the
subject of any meeting.  The first lesson a maid must learn is to not listen in
on family or company conversations, so consider this instructive."

There it was again, another first lesson.  Mistresses didn't need to be good at
counting, I understood.

"You do understand the punishment for any movement other than tongue, tonsils or
the common and non-communicative blink?"

We nodded, not knowing, but making horrible guesses.

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten.  Six month confinement on a two foot chain with rations
of one can of dog food per day, that's for blatant insubordination, and of
course, Femworld does not make money on your labor if you are so confined; thus
it is frowned upon when a girl bothers us with the need to make you into a tax
write-off."

I swallowed hard, wondering what it meant to be a tax write-off and what kind of
wrath one might earn for being found in need of too much punishment?

"At the very least I'll have the leeway to see to a lesser offense of fifty
lashes with the cane if I deem you an intrusion into the meeting.  That, of
course, is a week's healing and another profit missed by FemWorld.  This is your
first assignment, and you've each not yet been properly punished for any
offenses, so I propose to make this very clear ... promptly.  I'll demonstrate
one cane mark for each of you straightway, so that there is no confusion
regarding the seriousness with which we expect our slaves to undertake even such
a small thing as your current afternoon duty."

Slaves?  It struck me that, that was exactly what we were; not the sexual fun
kind, but literally working at the disposal of others, and seemingly with
references that made it appear as if they intended to keep us thus endlessly.

She closed the door, taking the decent looking maid with her.  Half a minute
passed.  I saw the head opposite me jump at the same time as heard a wall
muffled smack.  Through the sea of bimbo hairs I noticed his eyes staring fatly,
though not at anything in the room, it appeared.  After his head recovered from
the jump, his face got red and his eyes involuntarily watered, leaving mascara
streaks down his face that I was hoping was not an infraction unto itself. 
Then, next, the man situated down from me jumped, the smack preceding his jolt
more audible, but again muffled a lot by the thickness of our captive wall.  He
grunted more than the man opposite, obviously using all of his strength to keep
from yelling out as tears also welled up inside of his eyes and eventually fell. 
I could see him breathing hard and short, as if struggling against something
biting him from behind.

The anticipation was killing me as I tensed up.  I heard no footsteps, the wall
too thick, but then felt a stick touch my buns twice before a withdrawal.  I
clinched my nearly invisible dick and vulnerable asshole.  A pause.  Then a
swish and smack that at first burned and then secondly nearly had me hanging
from my neck as my body refused to hold me proper.  I felt as if I was burning
up from the ass upward.  The pain just hung there, numbing my spine, it taking
me half a minute to regain my knees properly enough to say I was holding myself
up again and not the wall doing all of the work.

I had no idea what that cane was, but it must have been thick bamboo, wet and
swing with a pair of experienced fists.  I imagined my butt cheeks bleeding, but
after awhile I realized that I felt no dripping blood.

Fifty of those?  Damn, I couldn't well see the room for the tears that welled up
on their own after just one.  Some of the tears were dripping off of my jutting
chin.  I'd moaned too, louder than the others, not realizing it until I heard
one of the men shush me as quietly as he could without breaking too much of the
required silence, though it sounded more like a huff the way he had to shush me
with an enforced open mouth.

Then it was silence, our eyes not quite drying all of the way.  Maybe that was
part of the effect the meeting guests required; sad faces of utter torment.  We
waited like deer heads on plaques; practicing being deer heads on plaques;
determined not to give the invisible Madam Cloe any reason to be nice enough to
not put us on two foot long chains and instead give us fifty strokes of pure
hell for forgetting for a moment that we were sad little bimbo deer heads on
plaques.

It was, obviously, a new type of humiliation to be a wall ornament, particularly
as we were to be so close to the table, figurines and at seated eye level as
well.  My jaw and nose ached, but nothing compared to the feeling of that cane. 
I determined, come hell itself, I'd not risk another of those.

FutureDomme  Chapter12
by Counterparts199

The room door opened, and in came five women, all dressed in dark grey business
suits, two long skirts and three slacks.  One was a secretarial type, young at
maybe twenty, while the other four were older and the oldest perhaps seventy or
soon there.  Of course, with plastics and nanos, I'd guess the oldest more than
a hundred, her voice quivering as she spoke of legal matters that I worked hard
at not letting my mind connect on.

I'd hear whole thoughts that made sense as they started putting together their
meeting criteria.  Never had I been in a high powered meeting before in my
manual labor jobs.  I'd experience only with one at my first divorce.  These
women looked sort of like the lawyers we'd had at that one, or maybe just big
business types.  The oldest woman was troubled about some zoning problem related
to some case in Northern Iowa.  They had a series of issues related to council
meetings and contingencies.  One lady kept crossing items off of her list of
agenda items.  Apparently it was a big deal in Iowa, possibly a theme park, I
thought, and then caught myself for thinking about things I'd been warned to
remain ignorant of, trying to numb my head.

Two of the lawyers sat rather close when they leaned back in their chairs (their
backs within less than a foot, and often inches, from my face).  One had even
brushed against my hair, clearing one eye of frocks, as she'd sat, not as much
as bothering to fix me, me as if I were not in the room, which of course, most
of me wasn't and the rest of me had been warned to react as if not.  I felt my
tits pulling at my skin, them totally udders in my somewhat leaned forward
position.  In the lab I'd been mostly laid back, so the sway of my own weight
was always a new experience now that I'd become mobile.  My nipples were a bit
cold, yet another new feeling in the drafty hallway they'd been left in.

But mostly, I was just a head.  Obviously, these women were used to such
ornaments on these walls, only one bothering to look the way of the man to my
far left, and then away without comment before being seated.  It struck me that,
that one look had been simply her way of gazing about in her more important
thoughts; sort of like staring into space.  There were, to her, but five people
I this room.

The youngest lady, the secretarial type, though probably more like an intern
assistant, asked, "Does anyone mind?"

"Of course not, dear.  We have excellent ventilation, and of course, this is the
smoking room," said the older boss, she really quiet nice to her underlings, I
realized, having grown used to being bossed around and with no leeway in
anything myself.

The young lady zippoed her tar free cigarette, and took a drag.  A stream of
smoke sucked straight up, my eyes chancing a slow and careful look up toward a
small and quiet ceiling vent fan.  After awhile the ash grew on her cigarette,
me ever attentive to such things as a means of trying to not focus upon the
words that I was understanding in spite of the illegality of internalizing them. 
The ash grew as she paid most of her attention to her notes and in particularly
to the comments of the lady beside her, probably the mentor.  When the ash was
about an inch long I had the urge to ask her to find an ashtray, but of course
that was a stupid impulse that took no effort to repress.

She leaned back, swiveling her chair and with half a glance, flicked her ashes
into the mouth of the man on the far wall, she returning immediately to her
notes.

I could see most of the head behind her.  I marveled at how the man could
maintain his composure after such an insult.  Nothing moved, save a blink.  His
tongue stood out inside the extended lower jaw, a small heap upon it, him frozen
out of respect for the cane, I was sure.

In another minute, another ash was flicked onto his tongue.  Several more
followed.  Five minutes after that, she put the cigarette out on his tongue, and
tossed in the butt.  Still, the man dared not move, his tongue overlain with
ashes and a yellow butt.

The meeting progressed, me ever worried, should another of these women want to
smoke.  None did, but twenty more minutes in the young secretary reached for
another.  Good Goddess, a chain smoker, I thought, as she flicked on another
ash.  She glanced toward the wall, not the head, saying, "Do something with
that." It was an off-handed, light voice that didn't interrupt the meeting
voices, upon her third flick with the second cigarette.  She used her pinky
finger to flick the nose of the man ashtray, letting him know that she'd
addressed him and didn't feel like making a scene over it.

I watched his tongue retract, his eyes squint, and imagined the quiet swallow
that the neck brace hid.  It struck me that the Mistresses didn't even have to
be bothered by swaying Adam's apples with the way we'd been so well braced into
a part of the wall.  Only the tongue; a ducking tonsil; maybe a little eye
squint; certainly no voice.  Protest was beyond imagination.

As if proof of the unimaginability, the young professional smoker didn't even
check to ensure that he'd complied.  She simply continued her notes and chain
smoking, the next time around, flicking her ashes onto a relatively clean
tongue.

I felt my face flush.  I was an ashtray.  In fact, we were three ashtrays in a
room with only one smoker.  The smoker, in fact, had even had to ask permission,
it probably not always the case that smoking was condoned by all in attendance,
but us there, like I said, just in case, just like the bottom few in that stack
of coasters.  There, ashtrays; just in case.

My knees ached.  My body was sweating from strain and from being stock still too
long.  I had to continually remind myself that being a head in the wall was
considerably better than being a head in the wall while being beaten to a pulp
by a cane.  Hell, for that matter, being a head in the wall was way better than
being a lab rat.  This was better, wasn't it?  This beat my alternatives.  In
fact, I'd been promised a job as a cleaning professional; not all that worse
than my old job, if I thought of it a bit.  In fact, we'd been told by Madam
Cloe that we were only doing this sort of thing because we were new.  There was
better ahead, I had to promise myself.  This was like basic training holdover
status in the military.  It'd get better once I was in the training part, and
better again once I graduated.  I had to just endure and then, once graduated
and into some home or building as a cleaning lady, I could maybe escape even,
jump a train to Mexico maybe.

The meeting ended, chairs emptied, and the man across the way swallowed one last
time, his face finding one more tear, this one I assumed, not from the pain of a
cane, but from the embarrassment of having been made into an ashtray.  I'd
counted four butts in his stomach, recalling my lab rat days and how I'd
wondered about what my insides were turning to prior to realizing that I'd been
a placebo rat.  The maid came in to tidy up the glasses of water and coasters. 
One look at the ashtrays, and she moved on after only a brief fluff of the hair
on me and the man across from me.  We waited for half an hour, silent, just like
the reshuffled coasters, objects unused and perhaps even forgotten by Madam Cloe
as I assumed she was off and about other duties.  I fidgeted with my knees and
body, hoping no canes were awaiting such movements from behind.

I even touched my dick, recalling the days when I'd readjust it in my pants, a
concept I'd almost forgotten about after so many days naked and so little to
adjust.  Taking my hands away from my dick was prudent, given that I had no idea
what was watching me from behind.

Two more meetings happened, each shorter than the first.  On the third, both of
my fellow heads were used by several smokers, me still spared the humiliation by
the luck of the seating arrangements.  Then, meeting number four took place, it
an unforgettable occurrence of both chance and new experiences for me:

This meeting had men.  One was an older gentleman in a suit, clearly an old
lawyerly type who'd gotten his education in the days when most such
professionals were in fact men.  They came cheap these days, female lawyers far
more expensive due the bias so many judges showed against male law professionals
in court.  Then the same older woman who'd been at the first meeting walked in. 
She and the man took seats at the far end and opposite me.

A minute later a woman came in, followed by a man in a plain workman shirt.  I
caught the man's face first.  I'd been trying to not stare, it certainly an
offense, and thus was relegated to seeing by peripheral views and those I dared
sneak when they were otherwise engaged in one another.  It took me a minute, but
then it hit me.  The man was Hal, my very own sister's boytoy.  I had to catch
myself from looking around too severely.  There, seated just in front of my head
was the back of that last woman.  The lawyers spoke, and only Hal gawked around
at the heads, though I sensed the woman in front of me looking at the head on
the far wall with interest, but that was probably untrue.

I was hard to judge from the back of her head and from smelling the back of her
business jacket, but what if it was my very own sister?  What a coincidence that
she should turn up here.  I tuned into the meeting instantly, seeking clues or
even the hint of my sister's sigh to tell me it was her.

"Does that about sum it up, Miss Anderson?" Asked the male lawyer as he finished
his quiet preliminaries with the older business lady.  I'd not paid attention to
a thing either had said, having practiced brain death as a survival technique
over the course of the afternoon.  However, the sound of her and my own last
name hit me like a board.  Then my very own sister spoke, her back to me, but
speaking inches away from me none-the-less!

"Yes.  Basically speaking, I know my brother well.  He'd have signed up for
FemWorld, but I can't imagine him having done so on a permanent basis.  You can
imagine how I feel.  It took a declaration of next of kin for me to even trace
him to this specific facility.  First we had a considerable amount of
stonewalling ..."

"For the protection of the client and also due to the fact that legally your
brother is under our care as both a legally acquired slave and as a requested
Kavorkian candidate, which is, of course, a medical condition," explained the
older woman.

"Well, that's absurd.  He'd never declare himself a Kavorkian candidate.  I
doubt his permanent statue as well.  I spoke to him just before he signed up for
what he thought to be a vacation.  I know for a fact that he was not suicidal
when he claimed his intentions to only visit too."

I wanted to yell, "Yes, yes, yes," but I knew the power of what I'd been tricked
into signing, and the relative powerlessness of my sister.  I'd wait to see what
the lawyer added.  As long as they were advocating, I could save myself the
misery of speaking up.  My sister was doing well.  I tried to mind meld with
her, my mind yelling, turn around.  Look this way!  Help me!

"There are sides to each of us, and we all know that submissives are the most
secretive of them all.  Now look, Miss Anderson, I sympathize, but what kind of
organization do you imagine we'd have if we just let them all out when things
got a bit untidy.  We have a unique service, all legal, but let's be frank,
reliant upon the stupidity of our captive audience to make themselves captives. 
We, in other words, exploit men for their stupid compulsions and make
considerable profit from that.  In exchange, the world is less untidy with
aggressive male tendencies.  With more and more women choosing the lesbian
alternative, the remaining heterosexual female population has a considerable
male excess even with our services prospering and recruiting at a still
accelerating level.  An excess of males is dangerous, I think we can all agree. 
As a benefit, overpopulation is no longer a problem with one child per household
the new norm.  Even if it were true that your brother was interned for longer
than he signed on for, which isn't true, the better good of society is still
being served when he is looked after in a proper manner such as we provide."

"FemWorld is the fastest growing company in the world, and currently the fifth
biggest firm in America.  You have to come up with something better than
suggesting that your brother didn't confide in you prior to also admitting that
you personally heard him say that he'd signed up of his own free will.  What we
do here is now considered a significant social good that will take more than
that to blindly sweep aside for the sake of a hunch.  Besides, certainly he
would not have told you every embarrassing detail of his intended Kavorkian
status included within his transaction," the old woman said.  She was smooth. 
She'd done these conversations before.

"Is it legal, Albert?  Did he sign, like she said,"  My sister asked the old
male lawyer.  I occurred to me that my sister had a male lawyer because, while
well off, she wasn't loaded to the nines, and besides, she wasn't putting her
best foot into the effort for just me, a sibling, but after all, still just a
man.  If it had been important, she'd have procured the services of a female
lawyer.

"He did sign a significant release on three different occasions, as I can see,"
said the lawyer.  He added, "What we are asking is for Madam Bellifonte to
release him to your care, to be frank, as a charitable gesture.  That, of course
is asking more than we really have a right to ask."  He looked back at the older
woman and using a diplomatic approach, asked, "Would you consider a financial
arrangement?"

"It would be considerable," said the older woman, Madam Bellifonte.

"How much, pray tell," asked my sister.  I was hopeful as I'd ever been when I
heard her ask that.  Yes, she might buy my freedom!

"I understand your interest, but we are talking about a lifetime of concentrated
service that is being purchased now.  Are you aware of the web presence your
brother had prior to signing?  It is what attracted us to him as we saturated
him with pop-ups and e-mail.  Almost everything imaginable was in his hit list;
proving a definite need for our services.  What if you purchased him back and he
signed up again due to your lax administration of your slave?  Let's be frank,
most women are not prepared to properly handle a relative who has been
converted.  Legally, of course, this is all conjecture, because even the one
purchasing him has a legal obligation to fulfill his contract.  You'll buy him
and then he'll relapse from lack of a firm hand, and thus, end up right back
here."

"He's my brother, not my slave.  I mean, I'll take it out of his ass, certainly,
but that's another thing, just maybe a little short of slave," said my sister. 
I was sure she would.  I'd be over every weekend after this, pulling weeds,
cleaning bathrooms.

"Hum.  The price on a nano-enhanced slave of your brother's current positioning
is one million, four hundred-sixty-three thousand and seventy eight dollars. 
That's today's price, and of course an estimate."

"Good Goddess," said my sister.  Her body, inches from my face, sagged, the back
of the chair also visibly sagging, and coming within half an inch of my nose.  I
was basically unable to see more than that as long as she sat so far back.

"In addition, he is unfit for sale at present.  I'm not sure where he is
specifically, and I'd not lie to that, but he is, I believe, in this complex and
his records show that he will soon be processed from one division to another for
retraining.  I have them as of a week ago.  He's certainly somewhere else by
now.  Anyway, I simply refuse to allow an untrained slave to be returned in any
capacity to the general population without a skill or a complete program of
training.  It's both a moral and legal question for us, Miss Anderson."

"And, how long will that be the case?"

"At least half a year, Miss Anderson.  Are you considering the purchase?  It
will, in spite of the current figure, be more when the slave is trained.  And,
of course, we have others we supply, so that assumes availability.  If we were
to have a bulk purchase, we'd favor the larger client if our supply were low."

My sister sat back up, allowing me to see again.  She reached into her handbag
and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  My stomach dropped.  The old man across
the way lit it for her, reaching across.  She took a long drag, creating an
instant half inch of ash.

"I don't have that kind of money to blow, taking a chance on a useless brother
who'd probably end up back here anyway.  I mean, you have a point there.  I'd
thought that it might be a couple hundred thousand, and then I'd work it off of
him.  There are, in fact, a couple of friends I have who'd consider him as a
husband, indentureship being even a bit of a plus since none of them have had
much luck with husbands in the past; personality issues, I'd say.  But, the
figure you quote is just too high.  It would take up over half of a year of my
disposable income to meet a number like that.  That sets me down more than I
thought I'd need to bear for the runt.  Fact is, I'd always wanted a sister.  I
mean, if he's happy here, or at least if he was dumb enough to think he might be
happy here as a slave; I suppose it's not worth setting me back half my nights
out and a much deserved spring break.  How will I unwind?  What to do with him
while unwinding?  It's like taking on a dog; always in need of a handler when
gone.  I just can't believe that he signed all of that stuff, stupid bastard. 
He was never the brightest in our family."

My sister looked around, (not my direction), having taken several more drags and
her ash having grown astronomically.

"Well yes, an old familiar story; I agree with you there honey, but aren't they
all.  The world is really better off with them pacified and useful for a change.
Every animal needs to feel useful and fulfilled to the extent of their capacity
and men in free society are underutilized."  Her eyes wandered over to Hal, who
gave a disbelieving face, but knew better than to argue with the powerfully
connected woman in her own castle.

She added, "Put too many of them on the streets and we're right back to chaos,
wars, rapes.  Not your brother, of course; I can see from his file that he has
proven more socially acceptable than most, but just as a general social policy,"
said the older woman.

"Just in case I change my mind, do you have an idea of what he'll go for when
finished with his next phase of training?"  My sister pulled out a free coaster
and sat it before her, intending it as an ashtray.

"Over there," said the older woman, nodding toward my sister's left elbow.

"What's that?"

"The ashtray.  Just behind you," explained the older woman.

My sister turned.  I saw her look right at me, quite curiously.  It was as if
she'd suddenly had a recognition.  Her eyes looked at every piece of me.  It was
clear as a bell that she saw something in me that startled her.

"I know it's odd, but when I first came in here I thought these were fake.  We
have them at the club.  The fake kind, I mean.  I've never seen a real one,
however.  You are certainly first class, Madam Bellifonte," said my sister.

The boytoy piped up, "We saw the displays, Sue.  Everything here seems real
enough for the perverts who sign on."  He spoke as if he knew he had a leg up,
as if just being a free man made him superior.

"I should try you out like that at home, Hal," said my sister, playing back
without looking at him, her eyes still stuck upon me.

"Not my cup of tea, dear," said the boytoy.

"Well then, maybe I'll sell you?"

"You don't own me dear.  It wasn't in the lease," said a rather smug Hal.  I
hated him more, the more I knew him.

She looked away long enough to give a stern look to her boytoy, and then looked
back at me a little more intensely.  Hal had the good sense to shut up.

I wanted to yell, "Don't you recognize me!"  I fixed my eyes on my sister's
face, saucers they must have been behind the strands of hair that masked them
like willow branches.

The old woman said, "Well go ahead.  You're apt to mess the rug," a casual sort
of warning.

"Oh.  Yes.  You don't mind?"

"That's why they are there.  It pleases them to be of use," said the obviously
wealthy old woman.

My sister reached her cigarette hand over toward my face and held it over my
mouth a bit too long.  The smoke wanted to go up my opened nostrils.  I forced
myself not to breath in, least I sneeze and sending ashes all over the
conference room and most importantly, all over the women.  She held the fag
there an excruciatingly long period of time, perhaps testing to see if I would
move, as if I were one of those guards in front of Windsor Castle and she was
marveling at my ability to remain still in the face of such an affront.

'Flick'  My own sister's finger!

Ashes hit my tongue, her hand withdrawing.  She took another drag on her
cigarette, watching me carefully.  She looked away, smiling at the older women
as if she'd just experienced a huge new luxury automobile or a secret orgasm or
something, and then my sister looked back at me, and said, "Does it clean itself
after every ash?"

"Mostly we just leave them to clean themselves as they feel necessary, but of
course, if it troubles you, tell the animal to flush," said the old Mistress.

"Clean ..." she started, and then hesitated.  Her eyes wandered to the other two
ashtrays.  "I don't know if this one is a girl or a boy.  I mean, this one is
amazingly girlish once you get past the distorted jaw and nose.  Are there women
slaves here as well?"  She kept on studying my face.  My very own sister was
stuck on me as a curiosity, and yet she didn't recognize me at all, it seemed. 
She took a finger and stroked my cheek, feeling how soft and totally void of
even the follicles of stubble I'd become.

I pulled my tongue in and cleaned as she watched with a creeping grin.

"No, of course dear that would be illegal.  Women being generally physically
weaker, are not cleared for such a severe form of treatment as men are.  It's a
vulnerability issue, made clear by law.  This is a completely new nano unit, I'm
guessing.  We've done considerable technology on new alteration technology.  In
fact," the old woman started, hitting a button on the conference phone.  After a
reply, she said, "Get me a brief on the ashtrays, will you Miss Cloe?"

In a minute, Madam Cloe came in and handed over a sheet of paper.  "Are they
trouble, Madam Bellifonte?"  Her stern eye caught ours one at a time, mine being
particularly stuck in the forward direction out of sheer terror.  My sister
flicked another inch of ash into my even steadier mouth.  All in the room
disappeared for me as I trembled to the thought that one bad reference from
Madam Bellifonte meant possible death, or at least horrible pain to me at that
very moment.

"Oh, no.  They've been the perfect ashtrays, Miss Cloe.  I rate them very
highly.  You've done well as always.  It was just a curiosity of a guest,"
explained Madam Bellifonte as she read the sheet.

"They're reassigned units filling a temporary role, Madam.  I've hardly had time
with them, but the training does linger from one job to the next, I've found;
though the detailed aspects of their service can often be upsetting until
taught," explained Madam Cloe.

"Yes, yes," said Madam Bellifonte, off handedly as she read the file.  Clearly,
Madam Bellifonte was several steps above the considerably powerful Madam Cloe. 
The older woman seemed to pause, as if recognizing a name.  She glanced up at
the wrong man, and then caught my forehead number briefly through my fine eye
masking hairs.  Then she took up conversing again, evenly, as if wanting to hide
the discovery:  "Yes, the near one is a new nano project, completely converted,
as I see.  The other two are an older nano job, like most of our units,
something we've already on the streets in vast numbers, in fact," she explained
while looking at my sister.

The old woman knew.  She knew that I was coincidentally the brother in question,
and just like that she'd not said a thing about it.  She handed the brief back
to Madam Cloe and dismissed her.  My sister flicked more ashes into my mouth, by
now only giving me brief glances.

Susan, apparently long past the idea of freeing me that day, if at all,
excitedly said, "You are, of course, talking about the newest gene splicing
technology that I've read so much about lately?  Little nanos working selective
organs, I understand, effectively making them bi-chromosomal like people born
from two merged eggs."

"Yes, well, there have been problems and some rethinking on it here at FemWorld. 
We had a first generation on this second generation nano project that shrunk the
balls back up into the transformants, and almost as we should have expected, the
testicles got stuck halfway.  I'm afraid that a man is simply useless as a
worker with his balls being boned every time he moves his legs - though it is
infinitely amusing to watch.  I have had a few left around just for amusement. 
So, we went to a much more aggressive approach.  This one has what might pass
for a fully developed vagina, the balls having softened and shrunk nearly
completely and been pulled inside, making a pocket of sorts.  It's the only
model we've tried this on short of the old surgical approach, of course."

"Oh, that's amazing.  I had no idea it was so advanced," said my sister.  She
stubbed the butt out on my tongue, it burning a blister as she did and I fought
the urge to flinch.  The worst part of it was that she was so engrossed in her
conversation with Madam Bellifonte that she only looked at me long enough to hit
the tongue before she deftly ground it in as if I were a glass ashtray.  Via my
own sister's hand, I'd become a fully used ashtray; how humiliating, I
understood.  The butt was another matter.  I had to build some saliva and
swallow hard, choking completely unimaginable in such staid and judgmental
company.

"Well, it is and it isn't.  We've decided to abandon the experiment after only a
few dozen or less examples.  You see, ten percent actually had atrophying
reactions so severe that the animals had to be destroyed.  Another thirty
percent weakened so much by the muscular conversion that they are of little use
to us as workers.  I'm making arrangements as we speak to put them out to parts. 
That leaves only a sixty percent success rate, which means we can put only six
in ten to work and get our money's worth out of them; and even they are too
frail to be of use in a factory or in a labor job where our in-house profits are
highest.  Here at FemWorld we don't consider that a success.  No, not at all. 
Now, in this animal's case, he may still work out for us if we are careful about
the types of occupation we direct him toward, but on a larger level, we've
decided to stick with the technology you see in the faces of the other two. 
They've effectively become unattractive as masculine role models, but are no
threat to the superior species of females.  As sexually conflicted drones, they
make excellent workers once they come to understand that their traditional
masculinity is no longer accessible nor acceptable."

"Oh, I see.  That is very sad to hear about the loses.  I'm sure that your
company's bottom line is too important to risk on a curiosity.  Of course, some
might like to purchase such a sweet thing for personal reasons; I've a head for
business myself, Madam Bellifonte.  As for the ones who did not succeed, that
might have been my brother in one of your experiments?  It makes me shudder." 
She turned around, genuinely troubled to hear about the loses, and when she'd
said brother, she'd been looking right at my now clean tongue.  Oddly, I
realized that she'd looked as a side thought, in order to determine if she
should tell me to clean my tongue or not.  Having determined the command
unnecessary, she'd just as absently looked away in mid conversation, her
sentence unaltered.

Should I say something?  Should I yell, "I'm your brother!  For crying out loud,
Susan!"?  Oh, it was on the tip of my blistered tongue, but then, with almost a
grunt, I killed it.  She did have the money to free me, but had determined to
only spend a little and besides, Madam Bellifonte had already declared me not
for sale for an entire six months.  They'd have me in ribbons before then, even
if my sister did drudge up the money.  Best to let my sister think over the
larger investment.  I mean, surely she loved me and would continually reconsider
until my ransom paid, and my speaking up at such a moment probably wouldn't
hurry that.  Or, maybe I was thinking that way because I'd been made into a
total coward.

Madam Bellifonte regained my sister's attention, "Oh, but there was another
factor as well.  It came to us that it is not socially responsible to have our
slaves looking that much like women.  At a point it becomes impossible to find a
difference between a free female and a feminized slave.  For most of them, it's
a simple lifting of the skirt in order to sort out the best conversions, you
see.  So we asked, how far should we go, and made a business ethics decision. 
What if some of them found themselves in female positions after some sort of
escape of benevolent purchase?  There may be laws there to consider against
fraudulent representation.  Who wants a man working beside them, or eating at
our best restaurants?"

"Oh, I can see that.  My ashtray is so striking that she could almost be my
sister.  In fact, it's eerie; almost like looking at oneself as a head.  At a
younger age, of course.  Not what floats my boat at all.  I need no such
reflection reminding me of my age.  You must have a difficult business; I'm
sorry to have troubled you.  Now, not to change the subject, but may I ask a
favor, considering that you've not been able to relieve my primary concern all
that much?"  Asked my sister.

"Please do," said a now much more congenial Madam Bellifonte, now that the legal
approach had been abandoned.  I noticed that Madam Bellifonte's most evil eye
give me one quick glance as if the old woman was Dracula meaning to keep a prey
in seat.  I felt my body go weak from that, knowing how powerful she likely to
be.

"Well, in case I come up with the money, or, more likely, in case one of the
interested suitors or an ex-wife should want to offer the money for the buy,
could you e-mail me when my brother becomes available.  In fact, I'm thinking it
a bad idea for me to buy him, even if the price was in my range, considering
that he'd be indentured upon purchase and I've no stomach for that in a brother,
as you stated.  But, I have several wealthy friends who have liked his digital
representation and who have stated an interest.  You know, it's also an outside
possibility for me to see my brother from time to time, should an alternative
find its way, and of course his being a slave to one of my friends doesn't
bother me in the least, nor nearly as much as the idea of never seeing him
again.  In fact, I kind of like the thought of him that way; makes him more
secure in a relationship than he's ever been before.  He was always an older
brother, but he's often left me feeling like his mother."

"I understand.  I'll make sure to contact you when he is at a crossroads for
sale, should we choose to part with him.  If so, six months would be earliest,
and most likely longer.  We are pressed for training time in order to make our
money, but not so much that we don't often take time out for what have become
almost usual corrections."

My sister seemed pleased.  Everyone got up, and shook hands, my sister's chair
bashing me on the jutting chin.  Then she was gone, leaving me with both a sense
of doom and loss, but perhaps an even more sadistic sense that it was slightly
possible I might be bought by one of her friends if I kept my painful nose
clean.  Nothing hurts worse than tiny windows of hope, but that was what I held
onto as my best hope.

The last one to leave was the miscreant Hal.  He walked over to the ashtray
opposite from me and patted the man on the cheek.  He smiled.  Then he looked at
the other two of us and said, "I just love the piggy snouts on you boys.  If I
thought I could get away with it before being missed, I'd find a use for those
mouths and have you snort my cum just to make good use of your snouts.  Maybe
even wash some of that ash down for you.  Masochists, good golly.  Sheeeeeeze! 
Look what you got yourselves into, boys!  They're going to pussify you like no
tomorrow.  Might as well call yourselves company cunts and be done with it."  He
rubbed the top of the head he was next to with his crotch a couple of up-down
motions, and then stepped back to witness the reddening complexions.  Then he
laughed, finding the door.

That's Hal, I thought, never really all that funny, but always imagining himself
so.  What a creep.  When the door shut I had real problems to mull.  My sister's
plea for my release had been squashed, their plans to work me to death over what
had now swelled to a whole lifetime had been divulged and worst of all, through
the accident of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I'd strangely
managed to draw attention to myself.  I'd changed so much that even under a
microscope my sister hadn't recognized me.  Not only that, but I realized that
even beyond the narrow escape of being a lab rat for cosmetic chemicals, I'd
been a far riskier nano experiment than first imagined, and a failed nano at
that, leaving me uniquely female.  I was too diminished and too female for most
work, and work was my apparent ticket to longevity, Madam Bellifonte had
admitted.

Out of all of the slaves I was apt to meet in my life, I'd be the one singled
out as the one with an almost real pussy and the most surreal rack of titties;
the anomaly that my fellow slaves would lust over in the absence of any other
unclothed and sexually pliable woman.

Considering how sex starved I felt at the moment, and assuming the same for my
fellow slaves, that prospect scared me more than the idea of being turned into a
slave.  In a way, I was more free to access my dinky cock than I'd been since
that fateful moment of signing on at my computer terminal.  Of course it also
struck me that as sex starved as I felt right then, I had no dick to speak of
with which to even get a full grip.  How was I to fuck?  As for the other men,
I'd seen their erections, guessing them each to have lost an inch or two off of
what were, otherwise, still quite capable cocks.

Hal, my sister's idiot lackey, was right; I'd been totally ruined.

FutureDomme  Chapter13

"You did well."  Madam Cloe looked right at me, having taken a position right
before me as soon as she'd freed us all and lined us up in the kitchen's back
room.  "Especially you, slave HM-199.  So well, in fact, that after consultation
with Madam Bellifonte, we've determined to employ your unique situation as an
incentive to you all in your upcoming training.  I'm sure that it will please
your uniquely girlish charms."

I swallowed hard.  She tapped a little riding crop in her hand, and then touched
my breasts with the stick, as if personally finding me inviting in a more than
impersonal way.

Then she simply said, each word steadily spoken, "I like you.  Oh yes.  Very
nice."

That sent shivers.  I'd learned as a lab rat that being picked out was not a
good thing.

"We'll make our demonstration promptly.  This way, girls."  Madam Cloe led us
through the back halls and into a bathroom to freshen up for bed.  We were each
given a strapless nightie, mine white and serving only to accentuate my breasts
as the see-through material fell off of my full dark nipples, ending at my
navel.  A pair of panties finished the set, mine fitting perhaps too well.  But,
of course, I had clothing, my first in six months.

From there we were led to a bedroom.  Several other newly interned slaves (not
retreads, like we three) were there, all in nighties and all seated or standing
around the ten beds that lined each wall like some sort of orphanage.  There
were no lockers, telling of our poverty of belongings.  Up above eye level,
several curtain laced windows gave light, them all barred.

I noticed penises on all of the roommates, some erect.  Over that wasn't much in
the way of breasts, them probably only recently having been injected with the
weaker nanos.  I'd be the only new nano-bitch in my dorm, I guessed right off. 
As they all found space near the ends of their beds, they stood silently with
fingers folded over panties, acknowledging the presence of Mistress Cloe who
escorted us in.

I saw most of the heads bowed, and both I and my two companions took up cue.  I
took my time counting seventeen men, counting myself.  We were temporarily seven
over capacity, I guessed.

"Good news girls.  We will be starting our new Bimbo Wannabee classes promptly
in the morning, wherein we shall be making sluts and sissies of each of you. 
You've all been properly groomed for bed and given proper instructions on how to
speak to your superiors.  Tomorrow will, of course, be much more training, as we
do seek to make something constructive of you.  In the mean time, our head of
legal affairs at this facility has authorized an incentive program for the best
performance of each day during your stay here, just for this class alone. 
Instead of going into grave detail, I intend to demonstrate."

Madam Cloe went to a side door and knocked three times.  The door opened and
four women decked out in white and black vertically striped dresses emerged.  It
took a second or two to figure out, but I guessed them no less male than the
bulk of those in the room, though their grace of movement was considerably more
practiced.

They immediately fell to their knees in front of the closest men, reaching into
the lap pockets of their knee high dresses to retrieve the latest in plastic
chastity devices.  I'd seen them advertised, CB2040s, very high tech and fit
forming, guaranteed not to pinch at least, but not inclined to allow erections
past an inch of the original fit.  Each man was fitted, first with carefully
selected rings around the balls that were pulled through, and then with ribbed
penis tubes that locked down so as to trap the balls between the two parts and
prevent removal without ripping the balls off.

At the very tip of the thing was an inwardly faces spike of about an inch,
making most erections subject to either painful probes on the dick's head, or a
man's more usual voluntary manipulation of himself in order to facilitate  more
intrusive, but less painful, partial impalement.

High alloy locks clicked shut.  Once done, they knelt at the next man.  I saw no
keys, them apparently not to be trusted with the feminized servants doing us up.

When they came to me, they passed me by.  Of course, I understood, I have no
exposed balls to latch the things to and not much of a cock to slide in.  I was
yet again, a problem.

They finished by attaching thin neck collars to each of us.  The collars were an
assortment of colors, some pink, others white, one yellowish, and not all that
daunting, considering the three inch monster I'd been in as an ashtray.  Each
had six inches of chain dangling, a lock at the end of each of those chains.  I
was gathering that they'd be chaining us to our beds by next to nothing, and
dreading it.  They did, in fact, manage to fit me with one of those.

Once done, the maids retired, leaving us with Mistress Cloe.

She began, "As you can see, all of you are to be secured from tiring yourselves
all night with your penises  Now, I want you each to pair up.  There we go.  Not
you.  There are seventeen.  You'll be the odd one out," she said to me, her
chosen one, I knew, swallowing again with dread.

They each found a partner, stepping a bit closer to friends, I assumed.

"Now, the locks at the end of your leashes are unsecured.  Lock them to your
partner," commanded Madam Cloe.  Some hesitated; them apparently not retreads. 
I guessed this from the maleness of their skin and the shortness of their curled
blond hair, not to mention the length of their cocks, some being a good eight or
nine inches still.

"Those who hesitate will be punished," Madam Cloe added, choosing to not
acknowledge the hesitation.  That worked, the men all locked in five seconds
after the mere threat.  We had eight pairs of two, all locked within a foot of
one another's face.

"Much better.  Any hesitation in the future will not go unrecognized.  Have I
made myself perfectly clear, slaves?  You may say, "Yes Madam,""

"Yes Madam," we all said at once.

"Fine then.  Each pair may now find a bed.  Get to it!"

I looked for a bed, but Madam Cloe's hand on my shoulder told me to wait.  The
men all found beds, them struggling to maintain as much distance as they could
on the singles, some neck chains stretched to their furthest extreme.

"Everyone face this side of the room," she commanded, pointing to her left. 
Now, spoon, maids wannabees.  I want every one of you sluts back to front. 
"Tighter!  Arms around!  Overbody hands on a hooter.  Off hand under your
partner's pillow.  Cheek to shoulder.  Closer!  Pelvises tight.  Six with a
paddle tomorrow for both of you," she commanded, as she strolled between the
beds and singled one pair out that wasn't close enough.  Soon, everyone had a
spoon so tight that I doubted it even comfortable for a man and woman.  It was
my worst nightmare, or so I thought.

"Now, here are the rules.  You may have as much sex as you like, as long as you
remain properly spooned.  Of course, it is ill advised, given that the chastity
devices will leave you each quite frustrated.  I expect you to change positions
at least four times a night.  Nobody will be watching, for the most part, but
any report to the contrary will be considered a direct disobedience, punishable
by up to six months on a chain.  I don't think that you can properly appreciate
that for what it is, but think the worst.  As for HM-199, we have a special
incentive.  Since we can't put her into a proper CB2040, I've decided to offer
her as your sleeping partner if your performance for that given day is deemed by
me to have been the best among your class.  As for your current partner, you
will have also earned her the right to a full night's sleep, alone and
unfettered.  Oh, and incidentally, that is assuming HM-199 available, but it
also is to include no CB2040 for the night that you have earned her company. 
Not everything that happens here, I'm sure you will come to realize, once you've
thought of it, is punitive."

"You may say, Thank you, Madam."

"Thank you, Madam!"  Came the chorus of men who'd just been told that I was to
be their prize, should they do well enough to have me for a night.  I was, of
course, mortified.  Madam Cloe, her hand still upon my shoulder, guided me to an
empty bed and then left us all to contemplate our fate.  I was glad that I was
alone, but then again, they all had chastity devices on.  If any of them were
the best maid bimbo wannabees on any day of training, I'd be shackled just like
them.  Oddly, I'd suddenly come to appreciate the thought of chastity; right at
the time I'd come to realize that I could no longer be done thusly to.

I tried to sleep.  Then I realized that I was free to masturbate.  Still, even
in the dark and low light, I felt myself a definite focus of attention as most
men glanced my way often.  I touched my dicklet and tried rubbing it.  Oddly,
stroking it in little circles made the most sense, a thing I tried a little of,
making myself hornier than ever due to all of the time away from it.  Men
watched me, me turning over so that other men watched me.  I made my movements
slow, hoping that I'd not be seen as doing what I was doing.  Every so often I
got really paranoid.  If they saw me masturbating, would that mean that they
thought me masturbating to the idea of being a bedmate?  I lost it when I
thought that, leaving myself even hornier and in need of some serious privacy. 
Finally, I'd rubbed myself until I was sore and numbed, desensitized and
realizing that I'd lost more sleep than I could afford.

All of us had trouble sleeping and all of us were left horny.  Some made
comments and then rolled over, spooning the reverse.  Then, after a couple of
hours, someone snored.  Even I, having seen my first day not laid out on a slab
as a lab rat, was totally exhausted and thus, finally found sleep.

In my dreams I dreamed of maid school.  It was probably a bit like the classes
I'd been in when inducted, I hoped, them not all that bad, right up to when
they'd put us into head cages and started in on us in earnest.  In those dream
classes, I had my hand up, answering all of the questions right.  The class
turned more conventional, a simple science class, I came to understand.  One
guy, a burly, ugly fellow, started raising his too, and after awhile, his
answers came faster than  mine.  The teacher, looking a lot like one I'd had in
sixth grade, kept calling upon him, even though I still had all of the right
answers and was waving my hand in the air upon each question.  In time it struck
me that she only was going to call upon him, but that only intensified my
struggle to be called upon, it becoming a frantic display of jumping up and down
in my seat.  Then, as if saved by the bell, she called on me.  But, by then I'd
been so focused upon being called upon that I'd forgotten the question.

I spent the rest of the night in fits, rolling over and over, always asking
those I met in my sleep if they knew the question?

Even when I woke to the sound of a maid coming to wake us all, I worried about
where I was and how I could get out of my situation.  If only I remembered one
secret question, I thought, I'd be free.  We got up.  The others were relieved
of neck collars.  We gave up our nighties and panties, and then we brushed our
teeth and hair, did our business and made our naked bodies look decent at
several makeup trays laid out for our use.

The men were not relieved of their chastity devices, but their eyes were all
over me, as if seeing me in new light.  It struck me that I'd suddenly come to
think of them as, "The MEN!"

Then, not entirely eager, we were lined up at our bedroom door and told by a
male maid to wait.  She departed with flying fingers, wiggling hips and pout
lips, gently closing the door behind her as she'd undoubtedly been taught.  I
found her very attractive as attired, my dicklet rising and asking me why I'd
missed my chance to have a cum out of worry over something as unchangeable as my
humbling new status as a door prize cunt to suddenly freed penises.

FutureDomme  Chapter14

After a very light breakfast of wheat, orange and thin milk, we were marched
through what looked like main halls instead of back corridors.  As Madam Cloe's
troops, we were still in the service sections of the enormous building, but we
passed other maids, and an occasional Mistress in plain or more dramatic
business dress.  There were roughly ten maids for every Mistress in the halls, I
noted, but the thought of rebellion seemed totally ludicrous.

It seemed odd in the big house, as there were oil paintings of dead relatives on
the walls, including stately men with wives.  The floor was highly polished
marble.  Work carts lines one wall next to some sort of office.  I'd not seen a
twelve foot ceiling in some time, and dared not look up too often to appreciate
this one for its high chandeliers.

Our eyes were always a bit downward and hoping to be unnoticed as we passed into
a classroom.  There were twenty chairs where we were told to sit, a desk and a
chalkboard, it all very old fashioned and conventional, and from my point of
view, sane maybe.  The back of the room was quite open, places with X's on the
floor and with some closed closets, like in an elementary schoolroom, our play
area, I was guessing.

The door was shut and we again waiting.  That's when it hit me that I had as
good a chance of being the best in the class as any of these other suckers.  In
spite of all the Bimbo talk, I'd done well in school.  My strategy was slim, but
considering my history in school, I might even manage to be the best in class
every day!

The teacher came in.  She was at best twenty-five, a bit porky, and not very
good looking due to a bad hair day, I was thinking.  She simply wore black
jeans, designer tennis shoes and a white blouse.  A single gold barrette braced
the quickly combed hair to one side.  I think that she was half asleep, or maybe
half hung over.

She started out simply:  "When I come in, you will all stand and assume the
waiting maid position.  That's with fingers clasped in front of you, and feet
about four inches apart, head slightly bowed, but eyes attentive.  The fingers
may be in front, but if I catch you playing with yourselves, I'll directly call
a supervisor and have you removed from my classroom.  I'll expect you to softly
say, "Good morning Madam Lillith," as well.  Otherwise, any chatter prior to or
after my arrival will, again, have you under the direction of a supervisor. 
Things are quite strict here, but this is how we are able to move along at a
decent pace, and of course, no maid worth her duties is either seen nor heard by
the family or guests she serves.  We've found that by being severely strict, we
lose a couple right off, but otherwise are far more efficient.  You will also
stand when I leave the room."

That said, she left the classroom, us all standing immediately.  The new guys
stood out, their skin not nearly as smooth and their penises not nearly as
shrunken as the guys I already knew in our group, the men I'd been shared
ashtray duties with the previous afternoon.

We sat back down, and as soon as we had, the teacher returned, us standing
again, saying, "Good morning, Madam Lillith."

"Be seated.  We will start with some academics.  If you do well, then we will
have some more fun time at our apparel department where we will practice
dressing and demeanor.  It will be several weeks before you are allowed your own
clothing, however, it being a right of passage here.  New maids are kept naked,
and thus better watched."

"Well, that said, let's begin with sissy math, shall we.  When I ask a question,
you may raise your hand, wrist back, and waving from side to side.  If called
upon, you need to stand in the maid waiting position, state the last three
numbers of your name, the term, wishes to guess, and precede all of that with
the word cunt.  Now, let us try:  Do any of you know the sum of three plus
eight?"

No hands went up.  I thought, and then remembered that in my induction they'd
touched on sissy math.  I had to take a chance, hoping to impress right off,
least I not gain the initiative as the best student and end up latched to some
man's lusts that same night.  I put my hand up, waving my fingers behind me with
my palm upward.

"Yes!"  She called upon me.  It was almost like in my dream, only the woman in
front of me looked not all that much like my old teachers.

I stood, and swallowed nervously.  Everyone was looking at me, the men in hopes
that I'd mess up.  My hands fell to my lap, interlacing fingers.  I said, "Cunt
199 ..." I wanted to get it just right ..."wishes to guess," and then I forgot
the numbers.  Suddenly, they came to me.  I added both, "Thirty-eight, madam."

She paused, almost expressionless.  I sensed a bit of a scowl, as if she'd
expected better.  Her hand waved me down, so I sat, my stomach still up there. 
"Does anybody else have a guess?"

One burly man's hand went up.  If he got it right, I'd be in a real fix.  The
man was big, not yet having had his nanos do much to him, and positively ugly. 
He stood when directed and said, "Cunt 334 wishes to guess, twenty-four."

"Were you instructed yesterday to always address a female as madam?"  The
teacher instantly shot at him.

"Yes madam," came the reply.

"Two demerits.  Now, mind you, I feel that you guessed as best you could, and
were paying attention.  I've no demerits for that, but as I understand it, the
briefing you all had yesterday was not that complex, and thus I will not forgive
a breach of protocol."  She took out what I guessed to be a grade book and made
some marks.  I was glad that I wasn't 334.  "I see that you and Cunt 792 have
both already earned six lashes.  Might want to pay better attention to details,
334.  I understand that you are aspiring to both bimbo and maid, but maids are
sticklers for certain learned and repetitive details, I've come to expect."

"Are there any more guesses?"

Nobody else had the nerve.

"Well, in that case, only Cunt 199 has earned a star so far this morning.  Yes,
for bimbos, it is to be remembered that the sum of any two numbers is as
follows:  Six plus four is sixty-four.  Three plus nine is thirty-nine.  Now I
will go from bimbo trainee to trainee, and you will respond as I have directed." 
She pointed to the first chair and said, "Eight plus one is,"

The man, one I'd worked with the previous afternoon, stood properly and said,
"Cunt 102 wishes to guess eighty-one, madam."  He seemed to pass, and Madam
Lillith moved on.  We learned our subtraction, multiplication and division
tables, most of us tuned in and getting things right from there on out.  I felt
pretty good about getting that leg up after awhile, hoping that it would earn me
favored student of the day since several of us stood in perfect stead when it
was done.

Science, I had no leg up.  "Does anybody here have a clue regarding any of the
evolutionary steps leading up to the chimpanzee?"

Cunt 102 made a surprising stab at it, having figured out that a good guess
would not be punished if protocol was not broken.  "Cunt 102 wishes to guess
that the Goddess made the chimpanzee as she thought fit, madam."

"Very good, Cunt 102.  We are beginning to think like proper bimbos, I can see."

I could feel my heart sink.  Cunt 102 had been the best of my competition
throughout, and I felt that my good first impression did not stand as tall,
given that I'd been fortunate enough to have had some clue about the math, but
he'd just up and figured it out on his own how to dumb down that evolutionary
stuff to the least common denominator.  102 had, had his sights on me since the
moment we'd both been standing at the Maid Entrance doorway the previous
morning.  Being the one who'd had to endure Hal's crotch rubbing, I imagined him
eager to regain his manhood in any way he could, too.  At five inches of thin
dick remaining, he wasn't much, but I'd no desire to have anything poking me by
nightfall.  I had to find my moment, I resolved.

"What are the first six elements on the atomic chart?"

The morning sessions were quickly passing.  Out of sheer terror at the prospect
of losing the title of best student of the day, I had my hand up even before I
could imagine what I might say.  Helium, hydrogen, carbon, whatever, came to
mind.  Instead I said, "Cunt 199 wishes to guess ..." there was the most
pregnant of pauses, after which I added, "Oh, I'm sorry.  I can never remember
something that hard, madam."  I was totally rejected, and visibly so, having
been too eager and having come up so short.

"Excellent, Cunt 199.  That's the perfect answer for such a question addressed
to a proper bimbo maid.  So far you are the prize student of the day, and
although I've not been told the details, Madam Cloe has informed me that the
prize student of the day gets a special reward at night, and on a daily basis,
so all I can say is, keep up the good work."

We moved on to dresses in the apparel room.  Several sissies measured us and
tossed us stockings, garters, panties and bras, mine having had to be discovered
in the backroom due to my exceptionally reduced chest thickness versus my huge
melons.  I thought that maybe we were being evaluated in that work as well, a
maid trustee escorting us to apparel.  I did that trick where I put the bra on
backwards in order to snap it, and then turned it around to fit.  All of the
other men were watching me, learning how to put their bras on, though I had no
special training myself.  Perhaps it was simply their desire to catch one last
look before I put mine away.

Putting my enormous breasts into the cups felt weird, but after awhile it
actually helped what had become a backache from wearing my breasts to loosely
and unfettered.  If anything, being in a bra only seemed to increase the stares
in my direction from male and female alike.  I remember how I too liked a
partially dressed female form over a naked one.  Not that my opinion regarding
such things seemed to matter much anymore.

I rolled up my stockings, and then clasped them into the garter, that at least
sexy to the feel.

When dressed in the underwear, we were handed thin black dresses that showed
through most of our white underwear, particularly when the underwear pressed up
against the fabric.  Two inch heels were added, and then a brief white apron and
a tiny hat that went on with bobby pins.  All of a sudden, I felt good.  I had
real clothing on for a change.  I didn't have to show off every last bit of
skin.  As for it being maid's clothing, well, everyone here was a maid, so it
seemed OK in a way, though this one was obviously sexier and meant for trainees.

I had to reevaluate.  I was, in virtually every way, a woman.  Dressing like
one, under such circumstances, seemed a bit more legitimate than dressing as a
man.  I'd look like a freak in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt anyway.  I knew
that I was still genetically attracted to women.  In fact, even more than
before, I was thinking.  The nanos had not attacked the parts of my genetics
that made me like the company of women at all.  Probably, the organs responsible
for those hormones were also working overtime, even though other female hormones
were in mass production on the parts of me that effected my looks.  So, I was a
man.  Convenience suggested that I'd do best to just think of myself as a
super-lesbian.  For convenience sake, it was really the thing to think, and with
most of the women in the world now lesbians too, why not?  It only upped my odds
with the women to be like I was.

All of that sort of convincing was nice, but it really didn't help much when I
thought about the fact that I was unlikely to ever be able to feel my cock
plunging into a wet pussy again, nor would I stand a chance in a mob of horny
men who'd not had a piece of ass in anywhere from days to months.  In a way,
that was thinking like a woman too.  Men were a problem.  Men, with the sense
that they could get away with it, would poke me on a dime and walk away laughing
about it.  Hal's threats expressed exactly what he felt; namely, that if the
women weren't around to challenge him on it, he'd have his dick out in a second,
mindless of how we felt about it.

Dressed, we found ourselves at lunch, lettuce, no dressing, and a cake that was
blander than grandma's fruitcake, only far less tasty.  I had my whole glass of
water down, just finishing the whole three ounces of it.

In the classroom again, we were put at our X's, and made to curtsey over and
over again.  One leg a bit out front, eyes down, a small dip for an informal
thing, and a big dip for when summoned or in a formal setting.  A finger had to
always be out.  For the benefit of egos, whenever dipping for a man, eyes were
to be affixed to crotches.

We practiced on one another, first as to women, and then to men, me seeing far
too many ready crotches.  It was as if I were being asked to tease, when in fact
I wanted nothing to do with even the suggestion of approval.  How would I spoon
one of these and stay a virgin?  I imagined myself keeping my legs squeezed
together all night.  Yeah, maybe that would work.

"And, how do we address a man?" Asked our teacher.  I raised my hand quickly. 
"Yes, Cunt 199?"

"Cunt 199 wishes to guess, "Yes Sir," and, "No Sir," and, "Thank you, Sir,"
madam."

I'd scored another point, but every time I stuck my neck out I knew I was also
at risk.

We ended our day walking trays around, some empty, some with full glasses, some
out of balance.  I almost stumbled, unused to my heels, and at a time when my
tray was full.  It would have been a disaster.  Several men did, but not Cunt
102; I had my hands full with her, right up to the end of the day, trading good
guesses to increasingly difficult questions:

"What are the four basic food groups for sissy maids?"

Cunt 102 guessed, "Cunt 102 wishes to guess, chocolate bars and soda, madam."

I had a quick thought, hoping to beat it, and earning a chance with my dainty
fingers wiggling above my well groomed maid figure and uniform.  "Cunt 100
wishes to guess, chocolate bars, lollipops, Mistress's pussy and cum, madam."

She looked at both myself and 102, and then said, "Well, it was a creative
question, but I find both of you to be in the perfect frame of mind to attack
these next few months of training.  I'll be sure to tell Madam Cloe of your
progress.  As for the rest of you, one demerit to each of you for being not so
nearly eager.  No household wants a maid who gives off the appearance of
drudgery.  We must be bimbos, but we must never be without our eagerness to be
the best we can be in whatever life has dealt us, mustn't we?  Remember: We are
in the people business."

While we undressed, giving our maid uniforms up to the dressage maids, I did
some figuring.  Should I be happy, or not?  By challenging 102 like I had near
the end, I'd managed to lump us both in together.  A conservative move would
have been better, even if it meant not participating, leaving Madam Lillith with
the earlier impression that I'd done the best.  Now, Madam Cloe might be faced
with Madam Lillith's assertion that we both had been winners.  If so, would 102
get me as a bedmate?  What would that have won me?  I felt like the biggest
loser alive, gaining absolutely nothing from my performance that day.

Worse, I'd told Madam Lillith that a good bimbo always had cum on her mind as
one of the four food groups.  That, of course, was completely different from
implying a liking for pussy or chocolate.  It would never do to have any of
these people think that I liked the taste of cum, especially my fellow students. 
And, in just one day of sissy training, I'd so easily jumped to that as one of
my answers too.  They were changing us, me most of all, and I didn't like what
they'd already made of me, and yet, I had no choices, or at least I didn't until
my sister spread that word and raised my ransom.  Even that had to wait until I
graduated.

Fed another miserly meal and brushed for bed, I stood at the foot of my bed in
nightie and panties, dreading the decision that Madam Cloe might now make as she
paced in front of us.  Everyone was still in chastity, and collars with chains
in place.

As I saw it, I had three problems.  I had to perform perfectly in order to keep
from ending up someone's penis's bed pillow.  Then, I had to also be a good
student in order to ensure that the stay was no longer than six months before
graduation, upon which time I had a chance of being bought out from under all of
this by my sister or one of her friends.  At odds with that was my need to
retain at least an internal sense of my manhood (the external was as much as
gone).

Madam Cloe went in front of Cunt 102 and stood, thinking him over, it appeared.

Then it struck me that six months was how many days?  Six times thirty was,
66,666,630 days?  No, wait:  That was sissy math.  No, it was only one hundred
and eighty days, I thought again.  Only a couple hundred days is all, I
reiterated in my weary mind, feeling guilty at using good math to have come up
with the thought.  What if that leaked out and I used good math in a classroom;
dread the thought.

Then she came up to me and looked me over.  I'd been nano shrunk to be the
smallest of the group and thus felt vulnerable even to her might.  She said,
"The winner today is Cunt 199.  She sleeps alone.  You'll have to do better
tomorrow, girls."  I breathed, hoping it not audible.

We hit the sack when she'd left, the lights instantly off.  One of the men
uttered, "I'm getting into that pussy tomorrow."  It wasn't even 102, who'd
nearly earned it.  It was 334, whom I knew to be already up for six slashes and
a ton of demerits.  Who was he kidding.  He'd be lucky to stay off of six months
of chain.  Still, there were mummers of ascent.  He was not alone in wanting me
and the whole depersonalizing thing was now out into the open between us all.

All of it gave me pause when I contemplated playing in tiny circles with my tiny
dick.  Still, I played, this time unwilling to miss my chance to cum after far
too much time dry.  I mean, privacy was fleeting, the practical side of my mind
imagined, so I came in hopes that it was dark enough, the feeling of orgasm deep
inside of me like it had never been before, and lasting with trembling shakes
that could only have been the feelings I'd sensed in an orgasmic woman.  No four
second bomb, that!  It wasn't as instantly intense, but it lingered, sending
several waves.  I was so different way deep inside, I suddenly understood.  In
fact, I'd been so long and new at it that I'd moaned and my legs had clinched. 
Everybody must have heard me, I understood as I came out of the spell.

"Randy little bitch over there, ain't you?  Thinking about it, are ya?"

I could have died.  It was 102, and from the chuckles, they all knew, spoons or
not, more man than I on both cosmetic level and type of orgasm level as well. 
I'd heard from the classes worst and best, bracketed by all as target number
uno.

As for cum, I'd leaked a mere few drops onto my fingers.  What would the
Mistress think if I soiled my sheet?  There was little choice, I realized,
raising my hand to my face and licking.  Maybe it was a good thing, I thought as
I licked the cum off of a finger.  After all, it was one of the four basic food
groups and with what they fed us, probably necessary.  The more convinced I was
of such things, the better I'd be in class.  A hundred and eighty days was a
lot, after all.  All lessons already taught, and best held to heart if I was to
make it 66,666,630 days without being fucked.  Yes, my sleepy mind said in the
hypnotic state of early sleep, 66,666,630 days, chocolate and cum and curtsying
in dresses that keep me warm.  I slept to the same dream.  My hand was always
up, and not being called upon.  Cunt 102 smiles as he answers yet another
question; a chest of golden stars stuck onto her maid apron by the hand of Madam
Lillith.

FutureDomme  Chapter15

The other men chided me with moans the next morning as we dressed, showered and
got made up for the day's lessons.  Even the two who'd been factory slaves for
six months prior to this took occasion to crowd me and touch my ass, breasts or
make a try for my pussy.  They didn't probe, all at least wary of what might
happen if they got out of control and I started yelling.  A trustee or Mistress
occasionally came in to make sure of our progress or to make makeup tips so as
to improve our appearance.  And yet, the threats and intimidation were constant,
that morning; I had never before felt so alone among wolves.

I turned on one of them and said that I'd had enough.  "I'm not your plaything. 
I'm just like you guys, only I've been here longer.  You'll see.  You'll be like
me and then you'll know what it's like."

That stunned them, each looking around for a likely Mistress to come in and ask
what the screaming was about, but it was a moment of inattention from the
Mistresses, I guessed, since nobody arrived.  334 was the first to speak when we
all realized that nobody was listening.  "Look at yourself.  You're as much a
woman as a guy can get.  And, what about us?  We're in these chastity tubes. 
You don't think we deserve a break from that?"

"I'm not your woman.  I only swing one way," I tried.

"It doesn't matter what you think.  Things are as they say while you're on this
ride.  That's what it's like here.  I'm not going to go without a cum when it's
my turn to bed you, bitch.  I figured this place to be a cock pumping heaven,
and so far it's been bust on that score, so I'll not miss my chance at something
as pussy as you are when it's chain locked in front of me on a fuck bed.  What
bout you fellas?" Persisted 334.

"Here, here," said one, among other positive replies.  Even 102 and 565 gave a
nod, and they should have known that this wasn't about short term gratification
and vacation humping by now.

"That's rape."

"All the better that you feel that way about it.  I'll never have the chance to
rape a dame when I'm out on the public streets either.  Hell, you're just a
bitch junkie anyway;  signing on for so long as you have.  What was it you
signed for, complete makeover?  Life?  Best pussy I've laid eyes on in years,
whatever it was you had them do to you.  I've been tanked up for three days now. 
The way I figure, it's the law of survival in here while we're caught up in it. 
Soon as my vacation is over, I'll be civil to the rest of the planet.  Here,
what goes around goes around and is forgotten, I'm guessing.  You think we
haven't noticed how suck-up you've been with the teacher when she asks you to do
something sissy.  Every time you prance, it's like you're opting for pussy of
the year award.  I see the rest of us acting, but I'm thinking that with you
it's a vocation.  Maybe you was one of those TV whores before you even got
here," said 334.

"You think this is a vacation?  Think I'm just fooling around when I do my best? 
They're playing for keeps, maybe all of us for keeps.  This is serious, guys. 
You mess up here, and it's not a nice thing.  I saw one guy die right in front
of my own eyes from what they did to him,"  I said.  While I did, I noticed
heads wagging too much agreement with the junk 334 was saying and not much with
what I was saying.  The worst I described things, the more unbelievable I
sounded, even to myself.

"Two weeks is what I signed on for.  I'm on the free tour.  I didn't figure it'd
be this maid shit, but as long as I get a night with my dick up your sweet ass,
I figure it's been finally worth it," said the man.

"Two weeks?  You think it's two weeks?  What do you think?"  I said, stepping
from 334 to 102.  102 looked at the threatening guys around him.  I could see
the wheels spinning in 102's head.  He wasn't fully developed like me, but his
nanos had done a lot more than in the others, from the look of it, the weak
nanos took a few months, where mine had changed me significantly in just a few
days.  If I was prime beef A+, he was prime beef B- at least.  What's more, he'd
heard the meeting between my sister and Madam Bellifonte, wherein it had become
increasingly clear that we'd all been duped into full, lifelong enslavement. 
Maybe he lied because he figured, better me than him as the room's lovedoll, but
he only yielded a weak, "Could be more; could be less.  There sure as hell is
something wrong with a guy who lets them make him more a girl than a man
though."

"Coward.  You know better than that.  I know the score way better than you guys
do; it's all about survival here," I spit, retreating back to my bunk.  The man
was a bigger coward than I was by virtue of his denial.  If I wasn't the reward
that Madam Cloe has made of me, Cunt 102 would have been, he a distant, but
decidedly second best looking transvestite.  Well, I just had to make it not
happen, that's all.  I had to win all of the competitive days.  They wouldn't
prong me at least without a sanction and they weren't allowed to touch me in my
bunk unless they won me for a night, I understood.

I was more resigned than ever to beat them in class, and that's just what I did;
for two days, at least, and at a cost to my masculine mannerisms that I didn't
even see waning with every prance and defacing practical I undertook with
greater than average heart in order to impress.

Then the fourth day of classes hit me hard in the one way I could most easily be
beaten in our maid training.  Being smarter and more tuned into the fatal
lengths at which FemWorld was willing to go in order to ensure the best slave, I
had far more incentive and ability than most of them to excel.  My body, being
female as it was, also helped me impress the teacher.

But, on the fourth day it was tea service class.  Tea serving class might seem
like a cinch, but the tiny tray weighed at least two pounds, and the four
simulated glasses of wine weighed a non-simulated one pound each.  We were all
up against a wall, five inch heels touching the wall itself and we standing with
our heads properly bowed.  Each of us, in order as if counting off, repeated the
newly allowed phrase, "Wine, Madam?"

Adding to our humiliation was the requirement that we hold the tray with one
hand.  Panties lowered halfway to the knees, our skirts were then required to be
held up with the other hand, exposing our penises to frontal view.  Most, of
course, save me, had chastities to frame their penises nicely and keep them
stowed properly downward.

"Now, ladies; let's see who can hold it the longest.  Sometimes a good maid
needs to show some stamina," declared Madam Lillith.

It wasn't twenty minutes, and I had both a rusty voice and trembling limbs all
around.  Damn that tour as a lab rat, I breathed.  Lillith said, "Steady, Cunt
199.  You can't be failing me so quickly, can you?"

But, I was.  I'd been a lab rat too long, my voice and body were weak from lack
of use after I'd had lain upon the lab table for six months.  Four days had not
been much recovery, and I also had the weak diet and the severe effects of the
experimental nanos that had seriously changed my physique from a decently built
man to a wee mouse of a woman whose only size seemed concentrated in
disproportioned hooters.  I'd even shrunk vertically a half foot of height. 
Needless to say, all of the threats and attention didn't help me at all at that
task of holding that increasingly heavy tray.  I was the very first one to drop
the tray and it's simulated glasses of wine.  It all clinked to the floor in
just half an hour of work, and though nobody clapped, I could literally sense
everyone strengthening in resolve to be the strongest and outlast me by
multiples.  Here was their chance to be clear of their CB2040 and take the
virginity of the class fuckdoll, they'd be thinking.

I thought, maybe this won't count towards much of the overall daily score?  On
the contrary, Madam Lillith seemed genuinely pissed.  Being so young, she
perhaps didn't factor in my special nano enhancements and she hadn't attended
the lecture I'd heard from Madam Bellifonte about the weakening effects it had,
had upon us, and how forty percent of us had needed to be destroyed for spare
parts.  She just took it as lack of effort.  Mercy was not forthcoming.

No, Madam Lillith took it personal that her favorite student had done the very
worst in class.  She calling in the trustees who soon appeared with a strange
contraption that looked a lot like a gymnast's hobby horse.  This hobby horse
had no soft, fat saddle though.  It had a long, board instead.  The board looked
like a highly polished two by four, sat horizontally, with the two inch part on
top and bottom.  On top, the flat part had been sharpened into a sharp wedge. 
I'd seen pictures of such a thing; it called a horse, but mostly a rude place
for slave to be made to straddle.

Sure enough, I was stripped of my panties and heels and then told to straddle,
after which my hands were bound behind me and my feet secured, loose enough to
move several feet, but not loose enough to walk to either the back or front and
escape the straddle of the board.  All around me on the walls, the other maid
trainees kept chanting, "Wine, Madam?" With fleeting glances at my erotic
torment.

If I stood on both tiptoes, I'd avoid the board entirely, but if one foot
slipped to my heel, I was well down on it, and when I put both feet flat, it was
completely intrusive, all of my weight on my crotch to the bone, and me off
balance so that one foot just hung in the air.  At first, even that wasn't too
bad, but after a minute on the point of the board's side, my pelvis ached and I
had to get up on a toe or two.  The lips of my near-pussy straddled as well,
Madam Lillith occasionally lifting my dress for all's amusement.

Lillith seemed much happier to see me in the middle of the room on the horse as
a public display of her disappointment.  Literally everyone else was still
holding their tray well into the second hour of strain, every last one of them
beating me already by more than double.  Goddess, but they all did so want my
ass.

And, of course, my crotch ached and then started getting raw spots, bruised for
sure from the rubbing and the weight on the board.  I had to fidget; first up on
one set of toes and then the other.  It turned to leaps, as opposed to shifting
from one weakened elevating calve to the next.  I'd suffered mightily just
holding the tray, but on the horse, it was hell itself.  I found myself dancing
from foot to foot, fucking myself as I did and rubbing myself even more raw with
the motion.

Looking around the room, I found all of the maids still working the trays, some
trembling, but more erections having to be mentally fought down when spotted as
swellings in their CB.  Madam Lillith took demerits for every erection she'd
swat at with her riding crop.  She took more than an average length of time
admonishing the horny, a task that I'd learned to think she actually enjoyed the
worse a man was at obeying her.  She particularly delighted, knowing that the
CB2040 was no help for the squeezed erections, and that if the man couldn't
comply it was a promised six.

Finally, one tray crashed, and Cunt 786 was told to take her seat while the
others continued to impress.  Then another, and another, but three persisted
well into the third hour, me literally jumping on the horse, sweat rolling off
of my body as I struggled to ease the unrelenting pain in my ass and nano pussy. 
I imagined my pussy a bloody pulp.  102 had failed, but as fate would have it,
334 was still working his tray when the other two literally dropped to their
knees before letting go of their trays.

"I see that we have a winner!  Trustees, let Cunt 199 off the horse and see her
to her seat.  I wouldn't have expected it, but Cunt 334, all seventeen demerits
and eighteen accumulated strokes and all, has found something that she is good
at.  Though it troubles me to say it, and though it is one day from punishment
day within which we get to work off those demerits and paddles, I'm left with no
choice but to tell Madam Cloe that Cunt 334 is the prize student maid of the
day."

I was so famished and in such pain across the entire lower half of me that I
literally fell into my seat and thought of nothing at all other than the relief
for a few minutes.  Then, as the pain turned to seat numbing misery, I came to a
better understanding of what had just happened.  I'd been won by Cunt 334, a man
with nine or ten inches of cock left, and the worst possible sleep companion. 
It was literally hard to tell that he'd been given any nanos at all, and I'd
wondered why he'd even been slotted as a maid since day one.  Classes ended with
my dread.  Madam Lillith gave me a sending off pat on the ass, whispering into
my ear, "You'll be a much more satisfied sissy tomorrow, I'm guessing.  It's
good that you get this over with."

We marched off to dinner in the sterile little dining facility for slaves,
eating our mush and pears.  We could not speak in common space, obviously, but I
was getting all sorts of happy looks from all around, them living out at least
their big fantasy through 334, it seemed.  As for 334, he was playing it cool,
only once looking my way, and doing so in a way that looked almost
compassionate; the two faced prick!  The Mister Gentleman act was way too
little, too late, and aimed at the wrong girl.  I'd already decided to squeeze
my legs tight and stay awake all night, if needs be.

We finished, and were made to await a trustee in the hallway, all lined up,
hands in maid position, feet a few inches apart, and heads slightly bowed,
facing outward with puckered lips, like good maids waiting for a chore in our
student wing of the great house.

A brand new group of slaves came by on a path towards wardrobe, them not even
prancing yet.  We knew them due to their nakedness as well.  I immediately
recognized one of them, he having been in my first group of lab rats.  What had
my jaw dropping was the realization of just how different he was from the rest
of the new maid trainees arriving for their first day.  I'd seen many such other
maid groups, all of them far advanced from us here and strangely, all nearly
identical the longer they'd been here and the nanos had smoothed them out, but
not another naked crew of newness variety and none of my fellow lab rats and
advanced nano group.

The naked fellow lab rat was thin, only his hips at all wide, though he had an
inviting two finger space at his near-pussy.  Nothing much but a bud defined his
cock, the patch of hair above the crotch almost like a pointer aimed at it.  He
was an oddly fake looking bleached blond, of course, all of us so similar that
way as the nanos changed our color, including the new ones, in time.  His
breasts swung even more than mine and although not as big chested, certainly
pushing a double-D.  None of the others even came close, and he knew it, his
head hanging lowest and his demeanor of fear earned and seen through
shell-shocked eyes.  I looked at them pass, a Mistress shepherding them closely. 
I thought, is that man like me?  No wonder they all want my ass?

Then, clothes and all, I looked down through them at my body and shuddered when
I knew how attractive I'd become to the simple lust of mankind.  I had the same
body, for sure, prouder hangers, but the same two inch gap at my pussy.  Would I
even be able to squeeze my legs shut against a big cock's insistence upon
spooning with such a gap?  I swallowed hard, feeling a sense of doom.

Then, totally unexpectedly, another group chanced into the wing, we finally in a
trustee's hands, but made to wait for the group to pass.  The delays were
killing me; best to just get back to our beds and have it over with, I'd managed
to convince 1% of myself.

These were only two women, both in fashionable, though casual dresses, as if
just in from an early evening patio party or something.  Unlike our staff and
supervisory help, it struck me that these were guests of the hotel proper that
we were far from being allowed a part of and that these women, in turn, seemed
out of bounds.  Still, they were free women and guests, even if out of bounds. 
We, even our trustee, were nowhere near the station required to even advise them
of the breach in protocol.  Caught in a rare moment with no school Mistress in
sight, that made us most vulnerable.

"Oh, look.  I told you they had some stowed away back here.  Hundreds of them,
in fact.  Look, this queue looks fresh.  I can even see stubble on this one. 
The nanos have just been applied," said the first lady.

"Is our famous Mistress Angel getting herself all excited over stubble?" said
the other, somewhat less enthusiastic woman, playing formalities, or perhaps
bragging."

"Of course not, Madam Please.  It's one of those I'm weeding out!  If I wanted a
man with yet unaltered facial hair, I'd kick out my boytoy and rent a better
one,"  Said Mistress Angel, she teasing back with the overly proper name.

"I don't rent mine.  Rentals always expect sex.  Slavery isn't about sex; it's
about service.  I expect my slaves to simply serve me through the simple
pleasure of knowing that their loss is my gain."

"My boytoy isn't a slave.  He earns his pay; room and board mostly, but I live
well," explained Mistress Angel.

"To each his own," shrugged Madam Please.  "Anyway, hurry up.  I don't think
we're supposed to be in the back wings."

They were still down at the other end of the line I was in, Mistress Angel
clapping her hands in approval over 102.  Then they came to me and it was clear
that I was the show stopper.  She scuffed away my bangs, and looked at my
forehead.  "Oh my.  This one is interesting.  479-874-199-LR-HM.  Do you have a
pen?"

Madam Please pulled one out of the top of her bra, and Mistress angel started
writing my number on the back of her own hand.  "I know what a Hotel Maid is,
but what's an LR?"

"Laundry room, I suppose," guessed Madam Please.

I was glad they didn't know.  As of yet, nobody here knew that I'd once been a
lab rat.  How humiliating is that, I understood.  The rest of the guys already
treated me like scum (on the rare occasions when they could).

Then the trustee matron chimed in, "Excuse me Madams, but the LR would be lab
rat."  Damn, I'd not heard a trustee address a Mistress before, and it surprised
me to hear any of us maids inject an unsolicited thought, even if it was a
longstanding trustee.  Of course, they had sort of asked a question, so maybe it
was OK after all?

"Lab rat?  Oh my!  Is it healthy?" Asked Madam Please, stepping back from me a
step and then over a step in order to more directly addressing the trustee.

"I'd guess that she was a member of the placebo group.  Recycled to hotel maid,
but that would be hearsay, Madam."

Upon hearing more of the details, they both walked up to the trustee.  Suddenly
serious scowls were pained upon their faces.  Madam Please, the sterner of the
two, asked, "Have you been, by chance, listening in on conversations of your
superiors, slut?"

"No, I mean, yes, Madam.  Sorry Madam.  It was in a very loud conversation,
Madam.  Hard to ignore, since they had to dispose of half of them," stammered
the trustee.  He might have been here longer than us and in a position of trust,
but he'd broken a cardinal sin for a maid, I realized as I watched the grilling
out of the corner of my eye.

They really lit into the trustee then, a grueling conversation that always left
the maid in places with no way out.  It was positively frightening to hear a
maid being asked so many questions.  I'd been outed as a former lab rat, and the
trustee was getting hell, not for that outing, but for having known something
beyond assumed maid ignorance.  They left her with Madam Please's stern warning,
"Turn yourself in to your Mistress for twelve straps, maid.  If I've found out
later that you've not done so, there will be serious consequences!"

Once gone, our red faced minder did not hesitate longer.  He prancing us
directly to our dorm room, where we mulled around by the end of our beds in our
basically decorative nighties.  Some of the men mumbled whispers, again about
me.  I was even more of a pariah, them still dumb enough to imagine that those
of us who'd been here longest had signed on for what we were getting and that
they'd just been unfortunate and were only a week away from release after the
imagined fake buildup.

Off by the doorway, the trustee watched loosely for a coming Mistress, but with
his own dread in mind.  Even the occasional whisperers did not chance a pregnant
word though, least it start something like the horror we'd seen in the hallway. 
Maids simply did best when not forced into conversation, I felt more fully than
ever.  I dreaded whenever I needed to speak, probably mostly here, where we
often chanced it among ourselves.

Madam Cloe came in with a second grey uniformed trustee.  The trustee who'd
brought us home confessed twelve straps directly, and was not further
questioned, as if Madam Cloe was in a hurry, much to the trustee's visible
relief.  I'd long guessed that twelve stripes was a big deal, but had imagined
far worse.

Madam Cloe directed the trustees to prepare us for bed.  Last of all, she came
to the issue of my deflowering and towed 334 by his pink collar chain towards my
fucking bed.  His cock was as free as a bird, warbling in air with a bit of a
risky erection already.  His partner was told to sleep alone, and I found myself
locked within a foot of my new bed partner.  This was wrong, I felt deeply, as I
was told to work with my new partner at finding our way into bed and spooning.

I managed to spoon first, grabbing 334 around the chest.  I brushed aside his
nightie, taking one of his small, not really formed, man breasts into hand.  He
was big and muscular and it was a long, uncomfortable stretch just doing that,
bringing me tight up against him in the reach.

Madam Cloe's crop slapped my hand.  "Play with his nipple a little at first,
Cunt 199.  This is a big night for our winning student of the day.  It should
seem like a reward to him when he finally gets to make a decent ass-fucked
faggot out of you."

I did, and soon he was breathing more heavily with excitement.  We'd have to
roll over in a half hour; maybe sooner if Madam Cloe told us to before leaving,
I understood.  Then I'd be meat, as if this wasn't bad enough.  My tiny cock was
up against his hard ass cheek, certainly no threat to him at all.

"I don't expect to hear a word in here, and am posting a trustee at the door, or
you will all be severely punished!" Declared Madam Cloe before turning the
lights off and closing the dorm room door.

334 wanted to turn right away, but I whispered, "Not yet.  The rule is half an
hour.  I'll scream."

"Thought you wanted it easy, bitch," was his whispered angry reply.  I glanced
toward the door, hoping we'd not been heard and realizing that we'd not when
nobody came in.  He stayed still, biding his time, counting the seconds in his
head, I imagined, given that it was the only way any of us had to tell time in
our imprisonment.

I counted too, eighteen minutes and twenty, eighteen minutes and twenty-one,
eighteen minutes and twenty-two ...."  This was fucking insane!  His nipple was
hard as a rock.  I took my finger off of it, and he grabbed it back with his
free hands.

This was going to be rape!  I wasn't in the least bit homosexual, and yet from
my perspective, nothing could be more gay than what I was being made to do.  It
was illegal, I thought, fighting the inevitable in my head as I counted off my
seconds, probably slower than the animal who intended to rape me was doing.  He
stirred, starting to shift, eager to turn the spoon after his own, faster,
silent, thirty minute count.

I moaned, almost a cry as I felt myself manhandled into turning as well, unable
to change my fate in my still bruised pussy, even if it were rape!  If I made a
fuss over a few minutes, I'd not win that war with Madam Cloe who nobody wanted
dragged in here for any reason.  I clamped my legs shut with all the weak
musculature I had left in me.  My eyes, opened in disbelief at what was about to
happen, clamped suddenly tight, anticipating the pain and utter humiliation of
the realization that I was seconds from being forcefully taken by a strange man
whom I disliked more than any of the others.

"Do her," came a brazen whisper from across the walkway.  "Break her in for us,
buddy.  Shush, let me hear," said another.

I felt his cock probing closer to the cheeks of my ass.  Which would it be?  My
pussy or my ass?  Did my pussy even work like a pussy: I doubted it did fully,
it not as deep and ending in a vulnerable pair of imbedded balls and maybe not
even able to lubricate.  But, of course, if I resisted well enough, it'd end up
being my ass, it closer.  Did I want that?  Would that be better or worse? 
Certainly it'd be tighter, and thus probably far more painful, at least at
first.

That thought racing, perhaps I'd do best if I cooperated some, arched my back,
shoved my butt out for easier access to my wider pussy.  I knew that, that was
something I just couldn't do, as I continued to stiffen, fighting the probe as
it stuck, finally, squarely at my ass's opening.  The cock's head stopped,
realizing that it'd found something less solid, ready to shove forward and test
whatever it was!  If he'd been in the least bit limp, it'd not work, but he was
as hard as steel in spite of his nano setbacks that still hadn't done most of
their work.

An eager hand grabbed and then squeezed one of my big fat tits!  Fingers started
pinching the nipple like I was some sort of TV channel changer or something. 
Then he squeezed and kneaded me like bread.  I could smell his breath on my
neck, it hot and fast!  A second hand found an ass cheek, pulling it to the
side, making sure that the cock had as little friction fighting its impending
entry as possible.  I shifted my hips, but he was spooned, hip to cheek, the
head of the cock perfectly positioned and awaiting only a single, final thrust
before I'd become his gay queen and all night homo fucktoy.

His lips whispered directly into my ear, "Easier if you open up and relax it,
Cunt.  You know you want it.  Maybe even make it wet so it'll not hurt, if you
put a wet spit-up hand on it and make it slick for us.  Up to you how I fuck
you, if you want to be sweet about it, or I just shove it in raw."

"Oh, goddess, no.  Please," I whispered in my changed soprano voice, begging him
to stop.

"Suit yourself," he said, his muscles tensing and the hand on my tit going down
to hold my hip solid for the plunge.

FutureDomme  Chapter16

The door swung open, blasting us with light.  "Up!  Everybody!  Now!"

I fell out of bed, dragging my rapist wannabee and his huge, horny cock with 
me, it plopping out of my still virgin ass crack after a good yank offered by my
falling weight, in fact.  We found our feet, only banged up and choking from the
neck pulling collars a little.  Cunt 334 had the biggest wang pointing up at
Madam Cloe that I'd ever seen.

Yes, it was Madam Cloe and she was pissed like I'd never seen her before!

"Bitches!"  She screamed.  I trembled in horror at what a truly angry Mistress
might do to us all.  Had she heard us?  Were our conflicting whispers really
that loud?

"Cunt 199!" She yelled while facing some of the others, as if not remembering
who I was.  My heart sank through the floor at the screamed singling out.  Then
I realized that, in her haste, she hadn't remembered which of us were 199;
probably because she shepherded lots of the classes, and had dozens of numbers
to remember and in her rage, hadn't bothered to jar her own memory regarding the
man she'd left to be sodomized on a whim.

"Yes Madam," I replied with a crack in my voice and knees about to buckle.  I
breathed in stale air, as if it were my last.

She turned, and then shook her head yes, as if remembering.  "Well, that
explains it.  The one who looks a bit too much like the better sex for her own
good.  Those fucking off-limits bitches who came wandering down here today have
decided that they want a new, untrained slut to play with tonight.  "Couldn't
stick with the menu," they said.  "Too refined; like plastic food," they said. 
I fought the Entertainment director tooth and nail, and to what end. 
"Customer's always right!"  "We do have a reputation here, and besides, he's not
a pleasure stud," I tell her!  "Duly noted," she tells me like I don't matter. 
Like the whole program doesn't matter!  I'd not have allowed it!  Those stupid
rich bitches aren't even allowed in this wing, regardless of their pull!  Like
anybody will listen to me," Madam Cloe ranted.

She took a couple of breaths, allowing me the time to tell myself that if
anybody ever asked me what she'd said that I'd be sure to say, I have no idea. 
"It's not proper for a maid to overhear a Mistress's private conversation,
madam," I'd tell them.  I took a breath, the first in a full minute.

Having composed herself a little, Madam Cloe motioned to the trustees to get me
ready.  I was promptly unchained.  I was cleaned and perfumed and dressed in
fresh underwear.  Last was my black and white maid uniform.  The trustees did my
face up far better than I'd learned to do so far.  Then I was escorted out, all
of my fellow trainees still at attention.

Madam Cloe had gone, and I was with one trustee who turned out the lights as she
left, we guessing that the others would figure it all out and just go to bed
without being told.

My last glance was of a stunned rapist wannabee 344, whom I was thinking
shouldn't be so disappointed, considering that Madam Cloe had also forgotten to
lock up his dick.  He had hands, didn't he?  It was the best I'd ever get to do
again with my dick so small, so it wasn't like fairness was an issue.  Hell,
he'd even get to wrap his whole glove around the thing and spurt a gallon or two
over a whole night.  I was down to a pinky and a drop and when I could without
being eyed like candy.  It was just criminal what they'd made of my penis.

The hotel in evening was spectacular as we took the halls over and the steps up
to a marble floor that signaled the beginning of something rich and completely
new for me.  We were soon in the grand lobby proper, several women and a few
towed free men were checking in or sitting around waiting for taxies.  I could
see out a main door, and realized at once that the main doors opened to a street
just outside the guarded walls of the huge compound.  A fairly normal town sat
just opposite the street.

Off into the distance, a bit down hill, explaining how it had been so well hid
from view over the complex walls, a city skyline told of a thriving metropolis,
complete with a couple of twenty or more story buildings.  I'd thought us in the
country when within the walls, and oh how wrong I'd been; at best we were a very
large employment presence on the edge of a modest city.  It all seemed, western
Midwest, I was thinking, by age of the tall buildings.

Taxis pulled up, and a pink lipped sissy in a bellboy outfit helped people in
the taxi back doors.  Luggage was piled onto carts by other male servants. 
Feminized clerks checked people in and handed over messages or keys.

This was a truly enormous hotel, I understood, wide as several blocks, of
course, and I also noticed ten floors on a bank of elevators, and then floors
eleven thru twenty-one on elevators across from that.

It occurred to me that I'd only have to make it out the main doors and I'd
potentially be a free person if I got a good running start on it.  I could see
me though, in a sissy maid outfit, out of breath from running on my tenth
stride, if seriously lucky, getting a couple of miles into the heart of a city
which undoubtedly had hundreds of FemWorld employees calling their home, and
which probably counted FemWorld as their most prized employer.  In that city I'd
duck in and hide in some run-down bar without a dime to my name.  Maybe if
lucky, the bar owner would get one look at me and ask, "Well now; Broke huh?  So
how can we find a way for a big lipped bimbo like you to help work out the cover
charge?  Any ideas?"

I'd be back in the back room, sucking some nasty cock for the price of a beer,
all of it a ploy mainly just to keep me busy for as long as it took the FemWorld
van to come grab me and cart me back.  The barkeep would win a hundred dollar
instant reward ticket, which he'd pocket after a pause to lift the zipper on his
fly.  All of that suddenly in my head as I still marveled at how close the real
world suddenly appeared to be; it all just outside a revolving door that was no
more than ten strides from where I'd been led.  Most of he people in the lobby
need only walk out the door and yell, "Taxi!"

Then a broad shouldered uniformed cop walked into view just outside the broad
glass entranceway.  She waved at a cruiser that passed in the street.  Another
cop walked out from the edge of view where the first woman had emerged, she
sipping on a soda, but with wary eyes.  I counted, handgun, mace, nightstick,
cuffs, walkie and a stun stick, all dangling off of three inch thick and shiny
belts.

The trustee led me further from the revolving doors and deeper toward the long
lobby desk.  Off to the one side was a large murals of a woman in a stately
outfit, tall, thin dogs on leashed, estate behind her, and a man to the side,
naked as the day he was born, head bowed.  Upon second glance, I realized that
the naked man wasn't part of the mural at all, but was a live man behind some
sort of inset into the large canvas.  He was as if a statue.

To the other side was a curious window, almost like a downtown store window. 
Inside stood several very well endowed men, all of them nude.  They mostly stood
- one sat - some shifting weight, looking around as if completely unaware of the
fact that they were on display.  Then it occurred to me that they probably were
unaware; the glass probably one-way.  Behind them the wall seemed a painting of
dancing women in light clothing; that probably what the front wall looked like
to them as well.

In a way the men on display were sort of comical.  Like in a zoo, what would
these animals do if they imagined themselves just in a strange box, as opposed
to some sort of psychological exhibition in a high traffic area of a hotel? 
What movements, things touched, items scratched, human emotions exhibited, or
interpersonal conflicts engaged, if naked men were just put in a box and made to
wait things out as if in a waiting room?  Time dragging on, they'd get worried
about the wait; tempers would rise.

Of course, I'd seen animals in glass caged before; At the Sea and Lobster
restaurant.  I looked around for a hotel restaurant entrance, finding one a
little further down one corridor.  The smell of real food was faint from where
we were passing, but unmistakable.

Several women sat on benches, eyes glancing at the glassed in men display, some
studying the scene, and even one woman commenting to her husband or boyfriend
about it.  He seemed a little uneasy, and I wondered what women meant by
bringing their husbands to a place like this anyway?  Maybe they were sending
hints.  Maybe they brought their men here under false pretense and dropped them
off?  Maybe there just were lots of guys who thought it as amusing as their
wives that some men became FemWorld slaves and thus, came to gloat over the
disparity?

The trustee got a room number for a Mistress Angel, and he led me to a service
elevator, destined for room 2047.  Once on the floor, a leash was attached to my
pink collar and I was told to get onto all fours.  The trustee led me to the
door like he was walking a dog.

Mistress Angel opened it quickly, saying, "Oh, so quickly.  Hey, P, come see
what the cat dragged in!"  She took the leash, led me into the penthouse room
and slammed the door in the face of the trustee.

I was racing on carpet with  my knees, keeping up as we walked into the huge
hotel room.  Off to the side were two side bedroom doors, and opposite that was
a mini micro dinette.  I was led beside a couch and chair surrounding where a
coffee table had been shoved aside.  Madam Please sat in a chair, dangling her
leg right in front of where I was parked by Mistress Angel.  Angel took the
couch.

"Well, since you had to have it, get it to bring us some drinks," insisted Madam
Please.  I was soon up, getting brandies.  I'd not had a drink in months, but I
didn't chance it, remembering my tray training and doing my best to be a decent
maid at least as I bent and delivered their drinks and then retired to the side
to wait with my empty tray.

"Off with the panties.  Just leave them on the floor; the regular maid will get
them later.  Come sit with me," said Mistress Angel.  Madam Please rolled her
eyes and sat back with her feet uncrossed, the gap under her skirt accidentally
right in my view.

Mistress Angel put her feet up on my lap and asked me to massage them.

I did my best, soon that progressing to her on her stomach and me doing her back
and shoulders.  She rolled over and there I found myself most compromised as I
faced her, me on my knees on the couch, and she on her back.  "Um, lover boy. 
Nice massage.  Now, wanna see the rest?" Teased Angel, her fingers plucking one
button after the other off of her blouse.

"OK, I can see where this is heading.  I'm going to the bar," declared Madam
Please.

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport.  Sit and watch for a minute.  I want to show
you something," explained Mistress Angel, bidding her friend to stay seated.

Mistress Angel loosened a hook between her bra cups and her breasts were
suddenly loose.  Then she hiked up her skirt, and I found my eyes captive
between her legs as they forced themselves beyond my knees, raised and then
framed with her own knees.

"Oh, baby.  Put your lips right down there on my nipple.  No tongue, just
hovering there.  Yes, like that, just barely touching.  Don't you dare touch
that nipple.  Just around it with your lips.  Ohhhhhhhh.  No touching.  Just
above me.  Yes, now the other one.  No touching.  Almost, but no touching.  Just
breath on it.  Now, just the lips on my areola.  Ohhh, baby.  You're making me
so hot.  Come up here, and kiss my neck.  Right up to the ear."

"You'll spoil him," declared Madam Please.

Mistress Angel ignored her friend, saying, "Yeah, now right back down to the
breasts."  She reached down and hikes up her dress until it was bunched up
around her belly.  I looked down and saw no panties at all, just a nice, thick
bush of pubic hair.

"That's it, stud.  I'm so ready for you.  I want fuckie so bad.  Come to momma. 
You're the daddy.  Fuck me!  Come on, put it in!  Make me pregnant.  I want your
baby in me!  Put it in.  I'm soooo ready for you.  Yes, I can feel you so close,
so hot, so ready.  You want me, don't you?"

I chanced, "Yes, Madam."

"No, no, no, call me Angel."

"Yes, Angel.  You're so hot," I gave back, feeling my crotch right up into hers,
our pubic hair intermingling.

"Well then, come on.  Do me.  fuck me, you hot stud!  Stick it in and make me
scream!  I want you so much.  Make me your whore.  I've lusted for you all day. 
Your so bad, making me wait for you to come home and fuck me!"  One of her hands
grabbed my ass and pulled me into her.  The other found the back of my head and
forced my face into a breast, me licking and sucking for all I was worth.

"Come on, put it in!  I need you.  I need you now, stud!  Right now!  Right now;
hurry!  Fuck my pussy!"

I got my hand down there, and found my dick.  It was hard, but I swear, less
than three quarters of an inch in diameter and not even an inch long.  I put it
at her pussy lips, and even used the back of my hand to feel for where they
parted, but when I went to shove my cock in, it only barely touched the outside.

I tried masturbating it, hoping it bigger, but nothing at all worked, my cock
already at its maximum size.

"Don't you love me?  Don't you want me?  Want to be my daddy and make me squeal? 
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!  I'm so randy.  I can't wait.  Stop teasing me, you bad man.  I
need to feel your cock inside of me so bad!"  Mistress Angel pouted as she
pumped at me.  Then she paused her upper body, and she reached over, grabbing a
tiny bottle, and unthreading the lid.  There were all of six or so drops in the
bottle, but she smeared them onto her neck, and tossed the empty bottle onto the
floor.  "There.  That should help.  I went to the trouble to order your computer
matched pheromones from their files.  Do you love me now?  Do you want to fuck
me now?"

The smell of her was, indeed intoxicating.  It instantly had me thinking about
Lisa, the consoler who'd mentioned pheromones too.  I'd signed my whole life
away for Lisa, sure that we'd hook up in some passive femdom love rehearsal.  It
had been my undoing, and I'd not seen Lisa since, my heart torn by the loss of a
woman I'd instantly fallen in love with.  Here these pheromones were again.  I
was unable to cope with the potent chemicals that matched so perfectly my sexual
chemical match.  Sure, Mistress Angel was tormenting me, I'd figured out, but
then again, the smell of her and the fact that I'd not been near a woman in so
long was forcing me to see beyond her teasing and manipulative demeanor.  Far
beyond; all the way to pure and instant love.

"Come on, big boy.  Get hard.  Make that fucking thing big!  If you loved me
you'd get hard and fuck my brains out!"  She started bucking, grabbing and then
releasing my ass as she moved her pelvis up and down.  Grabbing my head, she had
me on a second breasts, as if pulling me into her body and absorbing me whole. 
The woman was wild; a sex maniac, and the more I looked at her and smelled her
and tasted her and tried to get into her pussy, the more I loved her in spite of
it all.  She took my head and clung it to her lips, Frenching  me with two
inches of tongue.  Then it was back to me sucking tits.  Angel's body danced
under me, she faking moans of pleasure as if being screwed by ten inches of
meat.

"Doesn't look like it's going to work," said Madam Please, she only halfway
amused by the scene in front of her and crossing her legs again as if the boss
of something corporate.

"He just doesn't love me, I guess," said Mistress Angel, pulling my head off of
her breast.

"But, I do.  I do love you," I professed, taking my fingers and stretching my
cock, pushing it into her sideways, though it didn't go any further than the
outside of her pussy lips and it just slipped out the instant my hand let go. 
She'd gone completely still, offering no help beyond a scornful look down
between us at my penis.

"You can't love me.  You don't have a cock," said Mistress Angel, her face
serious, as if instructing me of my lack of size for the first time.

"I can love you other ways, Angel."

"No cock.  That about says it all.  I can't be your girl if you can't get it up. 
I think that's easy enough for even a bimbo to understand, but let me put it
another way for you, bimbo 199: You're never going to fuck a woman again, not
just never me again, but anybody.  There's just nothing there to do it with. 
You can't love me without a cock.  I'll just have to find me a cock somewhere
else; make somebody else my daddy.  Oh, and let's just make it Madam Angel."

"Yes, Madam Angel."  I'd been as suddenly demoted as I'd been made into a stud. 
Oddly, I felt my cock go limp at the insult upon my masculinity.

She kicked me off of her, me landing in a heap on the floor.  She and Madam
Please laughed at my depression.

"Get in the corner and stand facing the wall, maid.  Here.  Put your panties
back on; only up to the ankles.  I want to see you shuffle," scolded Mistress
Angel.  I shuffled over to the corner and put myself facing it.  "Up with the
dress.  I want to see your ass before I spank it!"  I took my hands and lifted
my dress.

"Well, I'm going to go to that bar now.  Very amusing, but not my taste in
slavery.  I like them working for me and if I wanted sex with them I'd be sure
to spend a lot less than a thousand a night for someone without a dick," said
Madam Please, leaving me to my torment with Mistress Angel.

"That's the problem with you, P.  No imagination.  A man is easy.  A frustrated
bimbo with no dick is priceless."

"Speak for yourself.  Coming down later?"

"Maybe," said Mistress Angel before Madam Please left.  Mistress Angel turned on
the TV, and then ordered from room service on the phone.  A half hour later she
was eating what I guessed to be a late supper.  I could smell the food, hear the
television, but I remained stuck and ignored as I stood in the corner, biding my
rolling stomach and curiously underfed mind.

"Sherry, maid!"  I leapt from the corner, and got her a fresh glass, shuffling
with panties at my ankles.  "Face the corner," she barked upon getting her
glass, putting me right back to facing the wall.

I'd managed to miss being raped, but we maids got up in the wee hours of the
morning, and here I was doing duty into the latest of hours.  How would I
survive punishment day, it still an unknown to us all, but certain to be taxing. 
To think, this woman had spent a thousand bucks for me to just be humiliated and
stood into the corner.  She must be loaded, I figured.  Just to prove me right,
I heard her thumbing through some kind of book, and then dial room service.  She
ordered Stud 7847.

Ten minutes later a knock came to the door.  "Let him in, maid."

I walked over to the door to let in a man a full foot taller than me, and about
twice my weight.  His tight pants advertised a monster.

"Over here.  Side by side.  That's right.  Now, you take your pants down and you
lift your dress."  I was right beside Stud 7847, and he was huge, a USDA foot
long at least.

"Oh, this is precious.  Wait till the tennis club sees this," said Mistress
Angel excitedly.  She pulled a digital camera phone out of her purse and clicked
a few of our crotches as we stood side by side.

"Wait.  Crank him up some, maid.  I want to see how big he can get."

I wanted to ask her if I'd heard her right?  Crank him up?  With shaking hands,
I reached over and felt his dick.

"Come on!  Pump him up.  What's your problem?"

I knew not to get her mad, so I started stroking him.  He didn't get bigger, so
I put my fingers on him in a better, more stimulating way, and played his
foreskin up and down until I could feel him getting harder.  It was horrible,
feeling another man's cock, but I had no choice, deciding instead to do it as
best I could so that it'd be over with sooner.  His cock rose, up to more than
twelve inches in no time at all.

"Oh yeah.  Now, still.  Let me get a couple with the bimbo's little hand on it." 
Snap, snap, went the camera shudder.  "Now take the hand off and stand real
close.  That's a girl."  I stood still, my dress still held up, and endured her
many comparison photos.  She hit a dialer and said, "Dear.  Eliza, is that you? 
I have some pics for the tennis club.  Yeah, coming down at you right now.  Can 
you label that Angel's vacation?  Up on the bulletin board, you say?  Good idea. 
Thanks.  What?  What?  Oh yeah, that one's really a man too.  Hard to tell, you
say?  Here, let me snap you the face."  Snap, snap.  "Yeah.  You should have
seen him trying to fuck me.  Seriously hilarious, that.  You should get out to
this hotel; it's unbelievable what you can do to the slaves.  Expensive, but
we're worth it.  Yeah.  OK.  Chat later.  Chow."  Click!

"Enough already.  You, on the bed.  You, on all fours, here, by the bed," she
said, leading us into the bedroom and me by the side of the bed, now on all
fours as if her dog.  Now, off with the clothes, and fold them neatly," she said
to the other man, them a bit above my eye level as I stayed rock solid on the
floor beside them, eyes down as I figured she'd want.  "Put them on the table. 
Not that one, silly.  That one!"

Clothing dropped from the bedside and was steadied onto my back.  A pair of
shoes rode the small of my back.  I could hear Mistress Angel walking around the
bed.  She shoved the man's shorts onto my head, filling my mouth with the
crotch, and then went back to her stud.  In minutes, the moaning was audible and
the squeaking of the bed unmistakable.  That went on for most of an hour, the
occasional peak of orgasm, all from her, and then finally from him.  He'd
apparently been well trained in stamina.  I looked down toward my own treasonous
cock, unable to see it due to the way my dress and apron dangled.

Things got quiet.  Someone reached over and turned off the bedside lights. 
Slow, sleeping breathing followed a little later.  An hour later, Madam Please
came in, she going to the other bedroom with someone else's feet accompanying
her, I sensed.  Another hour of moaning and squeaking interrupted only me, it
too faint to wake up Mistress Angel.  The night lengthened, and I dared not move
least I drop the clothing and shoes from my back.

Dragging on, I was left with little to do but try to keep awake enough to not
lose the clothing on my back.  In time, the first sliver of light could be
sensed through the closed drapes.  Someone got up to take an early morning pee
and then got back into bed.  Ten minutes after that a knock came lightly to the
door.  Madam Please walked in and told the stud to get his stuff and go back to
his minders.  The shorts on my head and some of the clothing on my back went
with him.

I was shook with a foot.  Madam Please commanded, "Get yourself showered and
freshened up in the bathroom.  They'll be up for you in twenty."  Then she left
to go back to her bed.  Mistress Angel slept through it all as I showered and
made myself presentable by borrowing some of Mistress Angel's makeup and spray. 
Another knock came to the door, so like a good maid, I answered it.

Madam Cloe herself asked, "Ready?"

"Yes Madam," I replied, falling in behind her and shutting the door as quietly
as I could.  Thus ended the worst one night stand in my life.  It was almost
comforting to be back under Madam Cloe's tutelage, though I knew that my day
would be hell for being so tired.  I had six straps to my credit, and I dreaded
the sting of a strap even though I'd yet to experience more than one blow in the
past.  That had been a cane, reportedly worse, but it had been only one.

FutureDomme  Chapter17

My classmates were already done with breakfast, so I went without as I stood in
line for our punishment sessions.  I was still losing weight, hoping that
something would break in our meager and tasteless diet.

"Remove your skirts and aprons, girls.  Next, your panties.  Fold them neatly
and place them on the floor in front of you.  Now, face left, and form a tight
line, bimbo ass to sissy dick, first set of toes inside the feet of the person
in front of you, next outside.  Closer whores!  782, closer, or it's six extra
for you!"  The big, muscular woman in black leather shorts and vest giving the
commands wanted our line of 17 to be less than eight feet deep.  Once we'd fit
into her space limitations, she went into her punishment room and set up for the
job of beating us one at a time.

The room just before us was offset so that we only saw the half of it just in
front of us, the action seemingly to take place directly to the left of the door
itself.  It was a porcelain lined room, every move an echo, as if some sort of
furnitureless lab or maybe a shower room without the shower heads.  334, having
earned an unbelievable 16 lashes, was first to go in.  The rest of us waited,
bras, stocking, garters and heels our only company.

"Head in the hole, slut!"  I heard, the room before us a booming echo that
exaggerated all sound.  There was the sound of heavy wood dropping.  "Fingers on
the chest.  Now, play with your nipples as I work.  It's best to keep your hands
occupied.  Pinch them, fondle them, yank on them, I don't care, as long as your
fingers are busy and focused on your tits.  If you stop, it's another strap
added on automatically.  If you scream and break my eardrum, it's six.  I'll
have no patience with any big demonstrations, so keep your hands forward and
your moaning at a tolerable lever.  Am I understood, slave?

"Yes madam," said a trembling voice of the usually solid 334.

I could hear the sound of a spray, like window cleaner, it sounded like, and
then silence.  A swish moved the air.  More silence, and then an even swifter
swish, followed by the wicked echo of a solid and brutal slap!

"Ummmmmmmmmmhhhhhhhhhh!"  I heard 334 yelp, clearly struggling to keep from
being too loud and upset the punishment Mistress.

"Fingers on your bra.  I want nipple play on those tits.  Keep playing.  You do
that next time, and it's a non-counter.  Fifteen left for you.  That's
inexcusable, and don't think that so many will make any of them less painful for
you, bimbo.  I can see the source of your problem easily enough between your
legs.  This should help you understand the value of that sort of appendage in
the new future.  Don't you agree, bitch?"

"Yes, Madam," said a whimpering voice of 334.

"Good of you to do so.  I think it a crime that you're even allowed to keep the
abomination.  Would be best if it were removed, don't you think, slut?"

"Yes, Madam!"

"Now that I have you all trussed up, maybe it can be arranged.  Just defy me and
let's see what I can convince the authorities to do with you.  To big for a
sissy, is the brunt of my argument, I'd say."

The men outside were all hearing this, each of us seriously worried about our
own fates.  I was only one of a few who had accumulated the meager six, but one
seemed far too many, it having been all it had taken to reduce 334 to a
whimpering voice.

"Ssssssssssssswwwwwwwwwwwwwack!"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"  Screamed 334 though clinched lips.  Followed by,
"Uh, uh, ohhh, uh," a sort of cry, it seemed, as if we were hearing his tears.

"Seeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwack!"  It went on and on.  By the fifth stroke, 334
was clearly crying his eyes out, that unmistakable by the sound of huge sobs.

The second six was solid crying and shrieking, it building until the Mistress
announced, "No fingers playing, I see, and far too loud, wimp.  Two added to
this for failure to properly respect my commands.  I want tits played with and I
need some reasonable sound limitations!  Pinch those hooters, cow!  I show zero
tolerance.  Keep this up and I'll consign you to a caning; that, of course,
after I've had my eighteen.  There is no escaping the strokes you've earned, so
you may as well forget about the demonstrations, cunt."

It seemed like she's made her point, 334's weeping still loud, but cut down a
half decibel, and thus keeping the whip Mistress from declaring him any new
punishments.  Then he was done.  The sound of wood being loosened, and I
distinctly heard a body fall.  "Crawl out of my room, wimp.  I have no further
use for you until next week.  I can see that you and I are going to have plenty
of quality time in your educational pursuits, and if you ever get sixteen again,
I'll appeal for a decent pruning instead."  Apparently, out meant a second door.

The next man was let in, him no better for the wear, though none of us other
than 334 had more than twelve.  One man got loud, and seemed to be shaking the
wooden sounding thing that I assumed had him bound.  He'd lost it entirely, and
thus was severely berated until the Mistress just finished with only three
added, and let him loose.   A pair of trustees came in through our door and then
escorted the crumpled and crawling man out of the punishment area the way he'd
come in.  He looked a total mess from the beating and the bruising of trying to
get out of the wooden thing: mainly serious wringing around the neck and collar. 
It was never good to be singled out, I reminded myself, not knowing his fate as
I watched him vanish into the hallway.

Then, finally, it was my turn; dead last.  "Cunt 199!"

"Yes, Madam," I whimpered as I stepped in.  Right in front of me was as solid a
chunk of railroad lumber stocks I'd ever seen.  She motioned me forward, and I
dropped my head into the half hole.  The top came down and was simply latched
shut, the latch well off to my right, and thus unobtainable.  I was going
nowhere, unless of course I went there without a head.  "Nipples!"

I felt for my nipples, and made little flips at them with my fingers like I had
no sense.

"Ssssssssssswwwwwwwwwwiiiiiiiiiiiiish!"

It had been a practice swing.  The woman was big, and the swing was no play
stroke.  I closed my eyes and tried to think of something pleasant.

"Swwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwiiiiiiiiiiiiish.  Crack!"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, goooooooooooddddddddddddisssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh.  Uh, uh," I found
my mouth saying in involuntary protest.  I had to force myself to get less loud.

"SSSSssssssssssssssssswiiiiiiiiiish.  Crack."

I'd yanked my nipples.  My whole body was protesting, my fingers literally
twisted my tits in an effort to get the rest of my body to share the pain and
deflect it thusly.  It went on, me thinking such a thing unbearable until it
simply was and I simply found myself without a means of changing it.  Once I
imagined that squeezing my tits might help, but by the fourth one I was just
down to squeezing them for company.

"One more for being loud, slut!"

I'd not even known I was screaming.  I changed the scream into brisk breaths,
and waited for the last cut, it coming too quickly for my stinging ass to
recover.  When the stocks were let loose, I fell to the floor as well, a boot
sending me on my way to the back door.  I crawled through it.  Only after
finding my class was I able to get to my feet and join them, every ass an almost
bluish red, as we reentered the facility and found our skirts. aprons and
panties.

Every last one of us were telling ourselves that we'd never do a thing wrong
again that might earn us a single new stroke, and yet we all knew that most of
those strokes had been earned by more whim than anything deliberately earned.

Class that day was hell, the whole thing relearning history and science and the
English language in Bimbo context.  Bimbos, it seemed, were a distinctly
different species, as found out by cranium measurements and brain analysis.  We
even had our own blood banks, we able to donate to the general population, but
unable to accept superior blood, like the distinction between universal donor
and universal acceptor, in every way, we the donors.  History was full of men
plotting against women, and women were found to have natural IQs a full fifteen
points about the average men when testing was done properly.  The proper English
sentence was best when kept to five words or less, so we learned how to get to
the point and use five letter words in place of things that might be confusing. 
For example, the proper bimbo would say the last sentence like, "we learn to get
to the point and use five thing words in place of things hard."

All of this I learned while dead on my ass from no sleep or food, and my ass
killing me in the hard chair.

The day ended, and we were sent to our evening meal.  The bread and soup was
sucked up like never before.  Half asleep already, I found myself in the dorm,
waiting in my nightie for bed before I even gave the first thought to the fact
that I'd forgotten to compete toward the best student of the day.  I'd just been
trying to make it through, endure the ass pain and stay awake.  Figuring that
done with no assigned slashes of the strap, I'd only then returned to my quest
to stay number one.  Who had won?  I had no idea.  I'd been too famished to pay
attention.

Madam Cloe came in, and looked us over before bed.  "One of you fell out today. 
That makes it sixteen.  Still, I like our little competition; it makes this
class unique and fun for me.  So, according to Madam Lillith, 792 was our best
today.  You'll get to sleep with 199.  Your partner will permanently team up
with 565, who lost her partner.  Oh, and as for the dropout who tried to
strangle herself, I've determined that six months on a two foot chain will
probably help her focus.  Recycled.  Not a good thing, and not repeated, I might
add.  We only recycle once, and then it's written off.  Good night, girls. 
Sweet dreams."

Written off?  I looked around, and the others seemed to have not caught the
joke, save maybe a few, but it was hard to tell.  Anyway, the six month part had
caught their ears, and so the illusion of two weeks was probably preying upon
them.

Madam Cloe left.  The two trustees unlocked 792, a man who also still had a dick
that seemed to be working well, it maybe eight inches, I could see.  He was one
of 334's buddies, and though tired and sore, I saw a bit of a spark in his eye
when he'd realized that he'd won my ass.  We were locked together by neck chain,
and told to lie down.  I tried to be first to spoon, but he'd seen that trick,
beating me to the one behind.  The trustees left, and the lights died.  He
grabbed my tit and felt my ass.

"I can't believe how lucky I am.  Now you be good and don't fuck this up, bitch,
or I'll make this a lot worse than it has to be, hear?"

I tried to move down a little, so his cock wasn't so close to my ass.

"I said, be good, and that means, get up here?"  He pinched my nipple so hard
that I saw stars.  I moaned and whimpered, losing his next words.

"I said, do you hear me, pussy?  I want you to help!  You think I'm getting
cheated like 334, you're as plain stupid a bimbo as you seem to want to be in
class being teacher's pet.  I'm not spending the night thinking about what I
missed."  His cock poked my back, and he lifted me up by the sheer force of
yanking my boob upward with his fist and arm.

"Please, don't hurt me."

"Come on.  Help me or I'll hurt you for sure!  What you say, pussy?  Tough or
easy?"  His tit yanking was getting seriously painful.

"UH!  Yes."

"Yes, what.  What's the right way to say that, sissy?"

"Yes, Sir!"  I whispered forcefully, gaining some relief from his painful pinch
on my raw nipple.

"That's better.  Now spit on your hand nice and wet and reach back here and get
me wet enough to slide in easy."

I had no choice, it seemed, resigning myself to just less pain after a painful
day.  I spit on my hand, and reached around, feeling his gross dick, coating it
will my spit.  The act seemed totally unacceptable to my sense of right and
wrong.

Then he put it back at my ass, and pressed forward.  This really isn't
happening, I told myself.  Madam Cloe was going to rush in and save me.  I'd
wake up from the dream.  He'd see how wrong it was.

"Oh, baby.  Yeah, yeah," he moaned, the head of his cock slipping into my ass
with a sudden plop past the sphincter.  He was locked to me by virtue of the
ridge of his cock's head.

"Oh, fuck," I moaned, realizing what had happened.  I tried to move away, but he
was stronger than me, using the opportunity to shove forward even faster than I
could move away, impaling me in one long slide with his dick.  I felt the
pressure building inside, oddly choking a single cough from the sudden fullness
of it.  Then it was just pumping, my ass his pussy and me the same as someone's
rubber blow-up doll.  I dared not fight, wanting it ended most of all.

He came far faster than he wanted to, I imagine, filling me with his sperm, but
he then held himself there instead of pulling out.  "You loved it, didn't you?"

"Fuck no!"  I said.

Someone said, "Yeah, I think she loved it ... you ask me.  Best she learns to
appreciate it, anyway, cause lots more is waiting for a chance at it."

"Popped her cherry, guys.  Once the bunkhouse whore, always the bunkhouse
whore," bragged the man behind me as he started moving slowly, his cock having
rested and seemingly getting big again.

"I'm winning tomorrow.  She ain't seen nothing yet till she meets up with Mister
Machinegun," came a reply.

"No way.  Me.  I'm winning if I have to be pussy maid of the year doing it. 
I'll prance in the daylight for that dance, you just watch," claimed another. 
In a second, there was a murmur around the group that was too loud for comfort,
each making claims.  Thirty minutes were up, and as wrong as it felt to have to
hold the man who'd just fucked me, we shifted around, my hand on his tit.

"It's gonna be a long night, honey," said the man as he refused to sleep.  Me, I
was goners, finding sleep in seconds after having had none the night before.  We
turned, I know not when, and the next time he fucked me, I helped him, wanting
it over with for good.  I'd not slept in too long to count, the night coming in
waves like that of abuse and sleep until the early morning wakeup called us all
to another day of bimbo school.

FutureDomme  Chapter18

"That was rape.  When I get out of here, I'll know your number and the
authorities can look you up," I told the 792 the next day after a long shower
and dressing.  We stood waiting for the Mistress, sixteen little maids. 
Everyone was smug, full of little comments.

"Hell, bitch.  I'm winning you again.  I'm in love and might even want to marry
you.  Damn if you aren't the best looking piece of ass I've ever hard," said 792
with a snicker.  334 just glared at me, him still smarting from having had so
many spanks and having made such a fuss over it.  He'd been the first out of the
punishment room too, probably not having understood that we'd all yelled like
banshees, making his sense of shame over it seem silly.

We were marched right by our classroom, and then into a small, sterile room that
barely accommodated all 16 of us.  Let alone, again I was the brunt of hands and
cheap feels as we all waited for whatever was in store.

A speaker clicked, and we at first heard only static over a couple of small
overhead speakers.  ""Yeah, I think she loved it ... you ask me.  Best she
learns to appreciate it, anyway, cause lots more is waiting for a chance at it."
"Popped her cherry, guys.  Once the bunkhouse whore, always the bunkhouse
whore." "I'm winning tomorrow.  She ain't seen nothing yet till she meets up
with Mister Machinegun." "No way.  Me.  I'm winning if I have to be pussy maid
of the year doing it.  I'll prance in the daylight for that dance, you just
watch,"" filled the room, not crystal clear, but without breaks and clear enough
for us to know that our bunk room had been bugged and all the macho talk had
been intentionally brought to our attention.

Then the second room door opened, and there stood that dreaded punishment
Mistress in a bit of a five foot square hallway between two doors, the one
behind her shut.  Nobody knew her name, and it didn't seem to matter; we knew
her purpose.  I was still numb and burning in spots from the beating the
previous day, and imagined my ass unable to take any more, it sore both inside
and out.

"In all of my times here at this training facility, I've not once heard such
language from bimbo trainees.  My first thought was sixteen strokes for the lot
of you, and six months on a two foot chain for half of you, whom, I'm sure,
would be either willing to confess or soon find themselves well ratted out.  But
then, no, I told myself, as Mistress of punishment, I have a duty to find a
suitable instrument of correction for the specified crime and this one is a
shared offense, so why bother singling out a culprit.  I have, after all, had
some considerable professional training regarding the subject."

"So, one at a time, we will be leading you in and arranging you for instruction. 
Let me remind you that this is not my first instinct; so consider it leniency
because, trust me, I do so very much wish a harsher result."

"Cunt 792, you will be first," she announced, 792 stepping through the first of
two doors, and that door shutting in our faces.  We heard her scream, "Sissy
hands!  Purse those lips.  Hips!  Wiggle, fag!  I want you thinking cocks and
chocolate.  Small steps, you cocksucker cunt!"  Then the second door apparently
shut, our ears not picking up anything more.  I could actually hear stomachs
rumbling.  Nobody patted my ass, that's for sure.  One guy even said, in the
weakest whisper I'd heard in some time, his lips literally on my ear, "Sorry
about what I said," but of course it wasn't going to do any of us any good, I
believed, my dread as high as the next fellow's.

I looked down, getting ready to play my humblest, and saw a couple of those
caged up dicks actually so shrunk that I could see air all the way through to
the swollen, sperm filled balls.  The room smelled of fear, sweat rising, bodies
hot with heightened heartbeats and knees knocking.

Everybody went before me, as always, me thinking that the worst possible sign. 
Then the punishment Mistress came for me, me prancing and pursing enough to earn
only a few rebukes to any improbable lingering manhood.  The room was bigger
than our classroom with three rows of heavy plastic seats.  On sixteen of them
sat a naked man.  These men were different from any I'd seen since arriving at
FemWorld.  They were big, athletic, and in most cases, quite muscular. 
Bodybuilder, male whores was my first thought as occupation, but in each case
there was an obstruction to a perfect view.

Every one of my classmates sat on the lap of a man each.  Their eyes were wide,
mouths pursed, and hands held out at the elbows as if still walking around in
full maid bimbo prance.  The knees of the men they sat upon were almost
together, while the sissies had their legs slightly spread.  The men behind had
their hands on each sissy's tits, holding them up obscenely.  Frozen, almost, as
they were and symmetrical as well, it looked almost as if they we in some sort
of choreographed dance as they sat so stoically and silently and clearly in
fear.

I was led down to the last seated stud.  He was huge, all of six feet five, and
with a dick the size of a fully ripened banana.  The cock stood straight up, a
marvel of physics, I thought, but then again, it wasn't physics I was worried
about when I glanced off to the side and realized that the rest of my classmates
were not sitting on a penis of their own.  Those penises were buried deep inside
of every last one of their asses.  The big eyed look of horror on all of their
frozen faces was amplified by the shared realization that the whole class was in
the process of being buggered by what might be nano enhanced cranks on slave
studs.

"Kneel, Cunt 199," instructed the evil Mistress as she handed me a small jar of
Vaseline.  "Lub him up nicely.  Both hands.  Quickly!  I don't have all day. 
Careful!  Don't damage him; he should enjoy it.  This is a stud slave, Cunt. 
Far more valued than you.  Longer strokes now.  Get inside the foreskin.  OK,
most of it off your hands, get the rest off by gently caressing the balls!  Come
on now, you can do better; you're a bimbo cunt, aren't you?  These things are
instinctive for whores like you.  Want to impress the Mistress.  Want to be the
best pussy you can be about now, I'm thinking!"

Oh, Goddess, I was lubing up a man's cock, stroking it with two fists, it but a
few inches from my face.

"There we go," said the Mistress, taking the jar of Vaseline back.

"Now, around with you and have a seat, Cunt 199.  Knees forward and a bit apart. 
Let's be gentle with the man's penis.  Don't be such a stupid whore, bitch. 
Back up a bit.  There we go!  Little more.  Relax that asshole, slut.  There we
go.  Sit a bit more!  Yes, that's what we want to see.  No more macho chat, I'm
assuming?  OK.  There we go.  All the way down with you.  Just relax; it's a
nice soft seat for you this morning.  Excellent.  No talking, eyes forward and
all Bambi for me.  Purse those lips.  Fingers out, lightly.  Nice and hypnotic. 
Think, "I'm such a stupid bitch for finding myself in this position!" No smiles
from the studs; I expect professionalism from our FemWorld gigolos.  Now, isn't
that a picture.  Sixteen couples for class today.  In fact, I want this for my
scrapbook!"

The Mistress took out a camera and after much focus, gave us a couple of
flashes, sending our humiliation to the inevitable photo labs.  Several other
Mistresses then paraded in, all commenting casually to the discipline Mistress
about how good she was at herding so many on her own.  Indeed, I thought, she is
good at making all thirty-two of us into perfect cows.  Or, maybe I should say,
bulls and cows.  A few sat back and smoked, idly chatting as they contented
themselves in viewing the scene, us frozen in our Kodak moment.  I guess it
wasn't the commonly done thing, it a bit of invention for amusement, as more
Mistresses came in to observe and make more comments, some about adding it to
the curriculum, some bringing in guests whom I imagined might be office staff or
visitors.  We were quite the show.

The guy I was sitting on was patiently still, clearly disciplined, but I felt
his cock fading some inside.  Then I had to adjust my seat an unnoticeable
fraction, and the cock pulsed upwards another inch.  I didn't want that,
resigning myself to remain still.  The tour went on for maybe fifteen minutes,
after which we found ourselves alone with Lillith, Cloe and the Mistress from
hell.

Cloe spoke, "Well, sissies, you've found yourselves in an appropriate position,
I see.  No more macho talk in the dorm room, I imagine you've decided.  As for
earning a sleep with Cunt 199, you can forget that as well, chastity at all
times, I fear you've earned."

"I'm sure that you are curious about today's lessons.  They're simple, actually. 
I'm going to walk behind each of you and tap you on the shoulder one at a time. 
The sissies will rise five inches, slowly.  When I've determined that you are up
an even five, I will tap you again and you may resume your seat.  The first
sissy who has her stud's cock drop out on her, shall be declared the first loser
and spend the next six months as a head.  I'm sure that none of you want to find
out what being a head entails, but I assure you that six months on a chain is
considerably less taxing."

"Now, since it can be assumed that the studs you are riding have been
specifically selected due to their reluctance to enthusiastically entertain
their clients with anything bi when requested to do so for the Mistress's
amusement, this should be quite a challenge for all of you macho mouthed sluts. 
Keep them entertained with womanly wiles, least he shrink at his task.  Oh, and
one more thing, I do suggest that you not go to the extreme of allowing your man
to cum; as this would certainly tend to reduce the stiffy.  You may all start a
bit of easy, side to side ass work before we start the evaluation at this time."

"Second place loser shall get six months on a two foot chain, and third place
loser shall earn six with a cane.  The final fourth place loser shall earn
sixteen with the strap.  Once the losers have been taken away for punishment,
the remaining twelve shall spend the day in the kitchens removing tarnish from
the silver.  Caning and strapping shall be done prompty so that two of your
sisters can return to help you.  Imagine, only a week into your training and
you've as good as lost three of your rank already; not a good start for you. 
Shall we begin the fucking that I hope will improve your attitudes, sluts?"

"You may say, "Yes, Madam!"

"Yes, Madam," we all said in unison.  The simple act of speaking caused my lungs
to shift, and thus the cock inside of me as well, all very odd and intrusive.

They gave us all five minutes to do whatever we could with our ass muscles to
keep the dicks in us hard, mine having softened some, and then Madam Cloe and
Lillith started around the room, going from one pair to the next, having us
lift, and then sink.  The dicks were large, but we all knew that a flaccid one
would be hard to sink onto if it got soft even if none of them shrank to five
inches, a minimum number that I was doubting these dicks capable of sinking to.

Just when I thought that, the cock in my ass started shrinking, it seeming like
a bit too close to five inches for my taste.  The Mistresses were only four down
now, and up front, the punishment Mistress waited patiently, as if chomping at
the bit to have her head, two foot chainer, caning and strapping playmates as
soon as could be had.

Six months as a head?  What did that mean?  I could see a head, the rest of the
body somewhere else.  What injustice that would be, me the finest looking woman,
sort of, and the brunt of all the rude comments that had landed us all here, and
now the man buggering me was shrinking.  Worst of all, I'd be out six more
months before I had a chance to be bought out from under all of this slavery and
humiliation, but saved, by my sister or one of her friends.  That'd mean six
months and whatever training I got after that, and who knows what else.  I had
to get to my sister, but all I had to go on was a vague promise that she might
work something out in six months, not in twelve.

Just behind my ear I heard him softly chuckle.  He was playing with me, I
understood, not into ass fucking fags, I could hear his mental wheels singing. 
If he quit on me, I was doomed.  How could he do that to another human being?

I shifted up some, and squeezed my ass as I lifted, massaging his dick.  He
responded some, but not enough, so I took a chance, a big chance, and grabbed
one of his hands, mashing the whole palm up against one of my tits.  Then I
started a slow, humiliating grind.

"Bitch," I heard him whisper, it no more than the quiet sigh of a breath.  But,
at least his cock was no longer shrinking, and in fact, rising some.

"What is this?"  Declared Madam Cloe as she walked up behind us.  Madam Lillith
posted just in front.

"Initiative.  I suppose that in some things It's proper.  The performance of
duties, etcetera.  After all, this is all about the lesson these maids need to
learn about that lingering male ego.  Perhaps Cunt 199 is ahead of the game,"
mused Madam Lillith.

Madam Cloe wasn't completely convinced, sighing a, "Humph," but then tapping my
shoulder so I could slowly expose my stud's five inches and then lower myself
again.  They resumed their rounds.  I'd taken a chance at moving from the pose
and survived, was all I could think.  Others, of course, took my lead and the
whole room swayed a bit more, seeming sort of like an orgy in slow motion, which
was much less formal at least, but brutal on my ego when I understood that we
were all being made to outslut one another.  As for the guys, they were handling
us all over like our bodies were their playgrounds, and in a few cases the men
were going for broke, which we already knew was not what we wanted; no indeed,
we wanted to tease, simple as that.  It became a struggle, one which took all of
our concentration and strength.  I, for one, seemed totally concentrated on the
every last detail of his cock, as if any sign of pulsing or weakening meant life
itself, which, considering what I'd seen so far, might well be the case.

Then it happened.  Over in my peripheral vision, 334 lifted, and the dick bent
as he sat back down.  At first he tried to hide it by sitting on it, but Madam
Cloe has him lift back up, revealing the disconnection.  She moved on without
comment, and in a minute another man found himself lifting on a cock so wet that
it was obvious it had cum.

"I believe we have our head and two foot chain candidates.  Madam Brothard?" 
Said Madam Cloe, nodding toward the discipline Mistress.  Madam Brothard called
for guards, and with the help of the studs behind them, both sissies were helped
into waist and ankle chains that had them well hobbled.  Obviously the
discipline they faced was bad, we not having been chained, but only been asked
to stand in line for the dreaded croppings.  It all took on a very
authoritarian, institutional air, seeing that.

Soon they were gone, and in the heat of the distraction my stud's penis had
shrunk quite a bit.  I'd held off, knowing he'd numb up if I worked him too
hard, so I picked up my pace, and soon had a boner in me that I could live with. 
Just in time too, as Madams Cloe and Lillith resumed.

Fortunate for me, the next two fell, and I'd bit the bullet.  That afternoon I
was actually happy to be sitting at a long metal table and shining silver. 
Sure, I'd been made to be an ass pillow twice in less than a day, but with the
announcement of me as no longer the bed prize, and the setting of so many of my
fellow sluts into their place, I felt somewhat liberated to get on with the
serious work of pure survival.

FutureDomme  Chapter19

That one scene settled down the whole class.  Not a single student was dropped
out after that, and we all were down to an average of six straps a week.  No
more nights with one man unchastised and riding my ass - though I spent most
nights strapped to a chastised one.  No more manly talk at the morning makeup
table.  Just good old occupational instruction on how to be the best bimbo maids
money could buy, and hell, that was simply occupational, not any worse than
working warehouses for minimum wage, I was guessing.

It may seem weird, but after such a too-gay start, I found myself actually fond
of just plain old bimbo maid work.  After all, I know that most transvestites
are actually heterosexual, so I could hold onto that at least.  I certainly am
heterosexual, I told myself, never having been in the least bit comfortable with
the gay goings-on in that first week.  All we had to do was stay busy, primp,
play dumb and bimbo, and learn how to serve both formally and informally.  It's
a living, I decided to think of it as; better by far than the treatment I'd
received as a test animal and in that first trying week of bimbo maid classes. 
And anyway, as time went by, the closer I got to what I was hoping would be a
return of my sister and a chance to buy my way out of this loony bin.

In short, six months passed, and we were all finally led into the main hotel,
each a trainee alongside a graduate maid as we did our week of tutored rounds of
room cleanings and pillow puffing.  People would pass, and we'd back to the
hallway walls, curtsey, and as they passed, generally be considered as
invisible; always a relief when in fact we were ignored.  In time, I did a few
rooms on my own, a last test that was all of three tense days.  We worked,
slaves, not as much as a tip in sight since all the guests seemed in on it, but
once in awhile I could sneak a chocolaty pillow mint.

Then, on the third and last day, I saw the stud who'd buggered me in that ritual
of stud sitting (the last time I'd had to deal with buggery), him walking out of
a room with nothing more than a bathrobe on.  He gave me a curious glance, and
then it occurred to him that he knew me.  "How's it going, slut?  Been in any
more seating contests lately?"

"Sorry, Sir?"  I said, curtseying and hoping him gone from the empty, early
morning hallway.  He was a fellow slave, but anything that moved, to me, was a
Sir or Ma'am.

We were in a wing with only two occupied guest rooms, that being the sort of
hallway they had us new maids working alone in shifts until we were certified. 
Each of the rooms were often cleaned several times between guests, the exercise
more for our training than any practical reason, I'd learned upon entering this
last phase a week earlier.  In fact, I dreaded the few encounters and knew that
every meeting with a superior was full of hidden dangers.  What I'd manage when
fully trained and let loose upon the population, I had no clue, and far less
optimism.  My hope sat like an iron rock upon the dream that my sister would
come though on graduation day, as implied - though I knew that she
procrastinated some, and that knowledge had my stomach in my throat.  With all
of those troubles hidden inside of me, the stud was a mere pest, so I Sirred him
and waited for him to pass, or so I thought.

"Don't Sir me.  I'm a stud slave.  A slave just like you, in a way, but not
quite as constrained and certainly no pussy, you see.  The women here adore me,
you see.  Very much a man, still, you see.  You do see that, don't you," he
asked, pigeon holing me into the ice machine cubby.

"Sir, please.  I have my duties," I protested.

"Oh, come on.  You teased the fuck out of me that day, and I was left dry.  You
own me a pop," he said, shoving me up against the wall.  The force of it had me
lose my footing, falling into the small enclave.  I got up on one knee.  He'd
stepped into the hidden space and his cock was already out by the time I looked
up.  It waved in front of my face like a gun barrel.  The huge mans dick smelled
of pussy, it at least a foot long or more of glistening sexual slime.

"Come on.  Get me off; the Mistress who rented me left me dry as you did. 
What's a man to do?  Most of them are like that now, now that they are all being
fashionable and have been taking that new medicine to help them get rid of those
needs to please the man.  Yeah, most of them don't want me to cum anymore. 
Haven't even had a blowjob in a week, they've gotten so into themselves, but I
don't think you'll mind a little finishing-up action, will you, bitch?  I caught
how much you wanted me last time."

Wanted him?  I'd slapped his hands on my tits in pure self defense.  They'd have
made me into a head; a thing I still didn't know much about, but I imagined it
kind of risky, like being a test animal.  I could only take too many risks and
survive this.

"I can't, Sir.  I have to go," I protested, trying to duck between his legs.  He
clinched his knees and grabbed one of my wrists, yanking it up behind my back
brutally.

"Oh yeah.  Open up, and it'll only take a second," he persisted, probing my face
with his warbling penis.  He leaned back and took a quick glance down the
corridor.  Then I felt a terrible yank, my arm feeling as if tendons were
tearing, and the yank including a good amount of my hair.

"Ohhhh!"  I moaned, him using the moan as a means of fitting his penis past my
teeth and right into my throat.  The cock was bigger than the opening it was
shoved through.  I choked, but he keep right on slamming his cock down my
tonsils.  My goddess, I'd never ever sucked a cock before, and he'd taken me
without a single preliminary.  In fact, I wasn't sucking him.  My throat was
doing all the work as he strangled me from within, his pubic hair smashing into
my nose and teeth.

When I thought I was going to pass out from choking and no air, he came.  I
breathed in as much as I swallowed.  The beast pulled out on the third spurt so
that the last half of the cum made beads on my face and hair.  I was dizzy from
lack of air, unable to stop him as he wiped his cock off on my face and jammed a
drop into my ear for good measure.

He dropped my arm, and looked around frantically as if terrified he'd be caught,
and then in one swift motion, zipped up.  A door opened down the hallway just as
he struck a casual pose.

He nodded, "Ma'am,"  No reply came for the slave stud, and then heels could be
heard walking in the opposite direction.  When the superior woman had gone,
apparently without spotting me, he whispered quickly, "Get up.  You want to be
busted.  Maids aren't allowed to fuck around, you know.  Studs get written up,
maybe lose a meal or two, but you maids can get fired.  Know what it means to
get fired around here?  Wouldn't say a thing, if I were you.  They fire you, and
it's the factories at best.  I don't think someone with your amount of meat
would last a week in a factory."

"Fuck off," I managed to say, weakly, finally realizing that he'd gone over a
line and was no more a free man than I was.

"Come on, slut.  You should learn to control yourself!  Get yourself in a real
fix, you will, if you don't learn how to control yourself in front of a real
man.  What you think they're going to do, make you head maid for standing up for
your rights.  Think again."  His words were quick, nervous, and it was easy
enough to see that he was worried that I'd rat us both out.  Then he dashed off,
leaving me to find my feet and use a dirty washcloth to clean my face as best I
could.  I'd been used, and in spite of it, I knew he was right.  I'd be the one
in trouble, not him, if anyone found out I'd been having sex; even if it was
rape.

For my efforts, I got a chewing out and six straps for messing my makeup and a
tuff in my hair.  I'd been raped; this time by any standard, and yet he was
right; they'd make it into something I'd done wrong and not once had I seen any
Mistress side with a complainer.

Then, after my spank, a wakeup and it was graduation day.  Which, incidentally,
wasn't much more than a paper stating that we were now officially maids owned by
FemWorld.  A stamp more than a graduation.  We were reminded that though we were
to keep our graduation paper, we certainly weren't smart enough to read it and
if any new owner insisted upon taking it, as slaves we'd have to hand it over. 
Slaves didn't own anything, we'd all learned long ago.  But, of course, we were
something at least; maids.  That's sort of like owning something; a skill - no
longer trainees.  We had all sorts of skills too, like bimbo math and bimbo
science and how to curtsey and how to play pretend fuck-toy for amusement
purposes and how to stand in the maid corner for hours in heels and how to
always be unnoticeable in all of the little, unnoticeable ways one makes oneself
invisible as one works one's ass off doing household tidily work.

For graduation we were given a tour of the underworld.  It was called that
because an industrial elevator with an armed guard in it took us all down an
unknowable number of floors below ground level for the tour.  "Want to reward
you by showing you all that you endearing graduates have worked so hard to
miss," explained Madam Cloe who led us past two guard posts and three
electronically locked sets of bars before we emerged into what one could only
call hell itself.

There we were told that one of our former classmates resided.  Madam Cloe
pointed his ass out.  We knew of two in our ranks who'd been brought here, but
we didn't ask.

The one classmate was in a brick box that couldn't have been more than three
feet square and six feet deep.  The top bricks were reinforced by what I was
guessing to be reinforced concrete under the brickwork.  The box was completely
open on our side, so the prisoner was easily observed if we stooped as we walked
by.  He'd been pulled inside by a long, eight or nine foot chain that had been
simply locked around his neck at one end of it.  The other end of the chain was
visible through a hole in the far top of the brick enclosure.  Most of it had
been pulled through, but at the two foot mark, a large circular weight that had
been threaded by the chain was locked so that no more than two feet of the chain
could be pulled back down through the hole.  Not only was he on a two foot
chain, but given the way he'd been dragged in head first, he'd been made to live
in a claustrophobic box with only a broth bucket for company.

All he'd see when looking out would be the occasional guard's legs pacing by on
rounds, and the few similarly disposed slaves across the aisle.  In fact, in one
low, six foot high dungeon of a hundred feet of chained slaves, seventy men
could be packed neatly away.  Given that the brick boxes were only three feet
tall, even with so many here and such a low ceiling, at a glance the room seemed
almost spacious and uninhabited.  Nobody dared speak, adding to the surreal
efficiency of the room.

The only other thing in the room was a fire-hose.  It lay haphazardly along the
wide aisle between rows of at least forty resident chainees, dripping a tiny bit
of water into a center array of grated drains.  When we stopped moving, the drip
was torturously loud due to the cave-like silence.  The huge hose had a handle
on it for easy operation by the nozzle end operator.  I imagined the thing both
a punishment device and a means of cleaning out all of the stalls that slaves
languished in without even proper sanitation drains of their own.

As to the floor, the whole thing angled down towards the drains, telling the
story of how the flush operated down in hell.  Feed was thin broth - no water
nor feed needed beyond that compromise.  Cleaning was simple and brutal, Madam
Cloe explained.  Waste is flushed out along with the bouncing buckets; from
there it is a simple bucket collection as they always end up flushed about the
room.  A more detailed hosing of feces sent them into the drain.  If a man
protested or failed to follow the simple rules, he was flushed a little extra.

All the men I dared look at had sores on their bodies and bruises in the oddest
of places.  None looked our way, the formation apparently being head in and
kneeling like dogs for whenever someone passed.  I saw forty very ugly and
bruised asses, imagining how luck I'd been to avoid such a fate.

"It's a wonderful training tool.  No maid is allowed to come here twice.  Of
course, a tiny handful have earned a second visit, but we have better training
tools for those inclined to such nonsense.  Well then, demonstration?  Anybody
care to be a demonstrator?" Called Madam Cloe, full of fun and information, now
that we'd graduated and had extra time to tour in our informal maid attire.  (I
must admit that all of this attention was odd feeling to me.  They'd not really
cared much about our entertainment prior).

She walked up to one of our class and he instantly volunteered, knowing he'd be
volunteered anyway.  One of the guards, a beefy and short woman, walked up with
a long chain, quickly affixing it around the maid's neck and locking it down
with a medium sized lock.  She deftly tossed the rest of the chain into a vacant
three by three enclosure.  Kneeling on top and reaching in, she pulled a bit of
the chain up through the far end top hole, and threaded a ten pound circular
weight with it as well.  Then she started yanking, and our volunteer had no
choice but to fall onto his knees and start crawling into the enclosure.  Once
she hit the two foot mark painted on the chain, she clipped on a large padlock
and he was all set for a few minutes of contemplation, yet to be determined. 
He'd been assigned to a well dressed sissy ass in no time flat.  The whole thing
had taken her a third of a minute, tops.

"The clothing we leave on in the interest of security and simplicity of
instillation.  After all, some are brought here in the midst of rebellion. 
None, of course, leave here that way.  In a week it's all tatters and they catch
it in the grates.  Any questions?  We are all aware, are we not, that any
contract we sign when and if we sale you, includes a by yearly maintenance
inspection clause and an insistence upon return for correction provision, should
your supervision be found to be lax?" Asked Madam Cloe.

Of course, nobody did, but had been duly informed, so Madam Cloe said, "Well
then, shall we move on?"  Madam Cloe took us back through the entrance gate of
that dreaded cell.  The barred security gate slammed shut and so she walked us
over toward a second barred room.  I glanced back, wondering about our mate who
was still in the two foot chain punishment area.

Since I was closest to her, Madam Cloe noticed my wonder as I looked back,
saying so in a voice that only some of us closest to her heard, "The minimum
time in there is six months, Cunt 199.  I've thought that one a little ugly for
some time, so you can't slight me for wanting a little fun, can you?  I mean, I
never said how long the demonstration should be, did I, and there are rules
about it being strictly six months in there?  Nothing formal; after all, he's
not being punished; he's just demonstrating for us all the results of bad
service; an instructional assist, you might call his sacrifice.  When asked to
do a job, our maids must preserver to do their finest and finish the work
properly, don't you think, Cunt 199?"

"Yes, Madam," I had no choice but to say.  I felt doomed like at no other time
since at maid school, realizing how much power she wielded.

"Certainly it is.  After all, ugly and under-priced as he's likely to be, he's a
bimbo maid graduate, so he at least has that accomplishment to keep him company
and cheer him on.  If he survives, they'll bring him out and put him up for hire
and right to work.  Some low class motel, probably; we've measured his beauty
and found him hardly worth the trouble of selling.  Might as well have some fun,
under the circumstances, I say; will hardly cheapen the price."

"Yes, Ma'am," I said, thinking she wanted the feedback on such a joyful, touring
day.

Inside the next room we found out what being a head was all about.  Similar
boxes lined two smaller walls, about twenty in all.  These, instead of three
feet tall, were all of four and a half.  The tops of the brickwork enclosures
were thick metal.  Each occupied box had a head coming out of the top.  The
metal hinged horizontally like a horizontal stocks.  The man was shoved in, told
to stand at rough attention, and the hinged part of the metal top closed.  A
half moon shape in each metal half made room for only a neck.  Once closed, a
pair of metal loops lined up to the side of the head, and a lock was pushed
through to keep the man secured by the neck.

Cunt 334 was reintroduced to us - though neither his body nor his face were all
that recognizable.  From our angle in the center of the room, he was a standing
man, body below the metal and head above.  For rest, he had a six inch diameter
pipe that stuck out several feet beyond the back wall to sit on.  Since the pipe
was horizontal and aimed at us, it didn't look too uncomfortable at first, but I
imagined that over time it was hell itself.  Cunt 334 had been made to stand
over it, sit on it, and sleep on it for almost six months, I understood.  I
could almost see the curvature of his thigh bones from so much perpetual
straddling astride the six inch pipe.

Unlike the other room, men moaned, wailed and one or two voicelessly mouthed
mercy at some unseeing deity.  Given the fact that so many of them were doing
so, it was still not all that noisy, due to the condition of the men.  Not a
face in the crowd of eight looked sane nor even remotely lucid.  I looked at
Cunt 334, and imagined him unable to see me, even though he was looking right at
us with mostly closed eyelids.

There was a hose here too, and a drain, but no buckets.  They were fed, no
doubt, by other hands.  Their own hands wandered aimlessly in the box, though
their dicks were, like in the chain room, unlocked, assuming any of these
unfortunate creatures were well enough to yank on them.

"It looks like Cunt 334 may manage to leave alive.  In a week or two we'll see
if he has any use left in him beyond spare parts.  This room is only for
seriously flawed slaves, you see, so our expectations are not high for the
sacrifices that manage through the ordeal.  A few do manage to recover enough
for field or factory work though," explained Madam Cloe.

I was sick for them.  It was positively medieval.

Then she said, "Any volunteers?"

I found my body involuntarily taking a step back.  She started pacing in front
of us.  I thought, in spite of the nanos having finally made us all look more
like Twiggies with none more than three inch dicks, together we might take her
down.  But, of course, it was a fleeting thought.  What good would that do, I'd
long ago determined, and besides, none of us had the balls - in my case,
literally.  They'd drained us of courage and manhood.  As for the practicality
of such a stupid idea, we were still behind three sets of locked bared gates,
three well armed guards, and an elevator before we'd even make it back into the
main building.  No, her power was absolute, and whatever she declared was as
good as done, I read on all of our faces.

So, of course she stepped in front of me.  My heart nearly stopped, in step with
each word as the sadistic Mistress said, "Cunt 199.  I know that you're dying to
try it out for us, aren't you."

FutureDomme  Chapter20

"Yes Madam.  Please Madam," I said, trying to beg, though without the authority
to even do that.  A guard grasped me from behind when I found my legs unable to
move.  I was shuffled forward, into the brickwork confinement, and soon forced
to turn.  The brutal guard took an elbow and guided me backwards until I was
straddling the thick horizontal pipe with my crotch and a step later the back of
my head touched the dreaded half moon indentation in the back plate.

The guard stepped away from me, looking back with a half smile that told me I
was free to move, to run, to duck aside, but also that she knew I'd no spine for
such a futile and inevitably painful confrontation.

The front metal plate shifted with a heavy squeal on its bolt, moving
relentlessly toward my neck.  I looked down at my still clothed body, the front
of my skirt ripped from where the pipe had caught on it as I'd moved back from
the point at which it ended a few feet in front of my crotch.

"No!  Please, Mistress," I begged, losing all modest form as I found myself
having to lift my chin to keep from being hit by the closing metal plate.  "No!"

"Clank!"

The guard fumbled at the hasp that was well to my right and on the head side of
things.  She fed a heavy lock through the openings and then closing it tight. 
Then she went below, working a pair of ankle cuffs into place so that I'd be
forced to remain straddled.

Mistress Cloe looked me over, her eyes glancing from my head to my body.  There
was an amazing sense of detachment knowing that I was up here and also down
there, but the two were seemingly not one and the same.  What to do with my
arms, I wondered, right away, them just floating to my sides.  I could touch the
pipe in front and back, but if I leaned to grab it fully either front or back, I
realized that my head didn't duck with my body beyond the solid confinement of
the plate.  All of my classmates had faces of masked horror, thinking it maybe
their fate to some of this torment as well.

"Very well.  So, you all can see how easy it is to find oneself in a compromised
position, I assume.  We always sacrifice a few of you to this fate, just to set
the example and ensure that we are of the same minds as we move onward in our
quests for perfection in service.  See that none of you forget the ease at which
we trim the tree in order to maintain the health of the body of our service
personnel.

She turned toward the door, the rest of the class following.  I looked around at
the other eight heads, them mostly delirious, but following the body of leaving
people with as much clear envy as I had.  My classmates moved beyond the barred
gate, and then passed from view as they returned down the side corridor from
which we'd come in.  The walls echoed Madam Cloe's words, "Six months is a long
time to be thinking about the errors of one's ways, sissy maids.  My advice is
..."  Another security door clanged shut, proof that they were at the next to
last security point.  "... make a professional, demure, impeccable presence in
wherever you find yourself, least you be sent back to us for retraining.  Most
end up in either of these places for ... and then ... your pussy ... she wants
... keep ........."

Her words faded, the footsteps gone as well.  Across the way I heard the tinkle
of a man peeing on his pipe, the piss running off to a puddle at his feet.

I got paranoid.  It was overbearing.  I yelled, "Please!  I've not done anything
wrong!  I want to work!  I want to be a good bimbo maid!  Please, somebody!  I'm
worth a lot of money as a maid.  I'll never complain.  I see what I am.  I want
to be a good investment for FemWorld!  Can't you see.  This isn't a good thing
for anybody!"  Those were more words than I'd uttered in forever, and totally
out of line, but hey, I was in hell and almost mad from claustrophobic impulses.

I started kicking around, banging the pipe with as much fist as my limited reach
could muster on the thing.  I hit the underside of the metal plate holding my
head, but that only made me feel more paranoid, so I stopped, scratching my own
skin instead, as if my hands were independent from my brain and trying to test
the rest of me for aliveness.  In fact, they weren't me.  I was just a head!

A guard, startled out of her book reading and card playing by my screams, came
in.  "Screaming is not allowed, prisoner!"  The hose was already charged with
water.  She needed only to press the handle on the fire-hose nozzle, and a
stream of water blasted my body with the force of gallons per second.

One stream caught my clothing, ripping the top off my shoulders and to the side,
it was left hanging by a pair of stubborn buttons as the blast's aim traveled
downward.  My bra twisted and a cup caught the stream full force, ripping the
thing from my body entirely.  At my feet, the shoes smacked the back wall and
clattered into the main aisle with the force of chip shots.  The garters straps
neatly fell free, followed by the garter snapping off and joining the shoes in
the middle of the aisle, one stocking ripped at the knee and most of it went
into the flood while the top quarter stretched up like a garter at my upper
thigh.

When she was done, my body was beaten and out of breath from the tormenting
blast.  I had on a third of a single stocking, stretched panties that sagged
around the pipe where they were caught by my upper thigh, a skirt that wore
mostly like a belt with a dripping back loin cloth, and above that, a second
belt of what was left of my blouse.

The whole upper half of me was naked, my huge tits sagging and straining for
breath.  Below the navel I wore only the garter that was what was left of one
stocking.  I imagined my body bruised from the water itself.  There simply was
no strength left for screaming.  All of that from half a minute of being hosed.

The guard looked at me for a second to see if I was done protesting, and then
sat the hose down, her interest clearly upon the hidden desk around the corner
where her book or radio or whatever were there to keep her company over the long
haul of babysitting heads and bodies and guys on two foot chains.

The blast of water from the hose had caught the other guy's attention, I
noticed, as I recovered my breathing.  All but a couple of the more hopeless
looked at me with renewed curiosity, as if they'd not even noticed me before;
which of course, maybe they hadn't, I guessed, imagining their state of
delirium.

Of the eight, five were across the way, and three at angles good enough for them
to see into my stall.  There was one in the middle, straight across from me.  He
seemed most interested, once he'd taken a good look at the new head and the
other new thing, the naked, stacked, female body.  I saw what amounted to a
lucid facial twitch or two, and then his hands touched his own four inches of
dick and started beating off with a sudden vengeance.  I was shocked, never
having seen a man masturbate before.  Then it struck me that his eyes were
locked onto my body.  He was beating off to the very first look of my feminine
tits and pussy.

Of course, I had no control over the body I wore.  It was just there.  I grabbed
at my blouse, wringing it out as I tried to make sense of its twisted form and
pull it around me.  The buttons were gone, and the blouse itself ripped in large
horizontal tears.  The best I could do was turn my blouse around to hide my boy
pussy and lay the wet blouse material over my boobs.  The fabric clung, and thin
as it was, I knew from my old nude looking days on the web that a wet t-shirt
was better than naked for helping a man get his rocks off.

As proof, all of my fumbling was having a positive effect on the man across the
way, too, his cock having actually grown to a full five inches, and seemingly
strained white from the turn-on.  Suddenly, a man I'd imagined half dead when
first arriving, shot a spurt of cum into the air so high that it hit the
underside of his head plate and started dripping back down before the second
spurt joined it at pasting the underside of the metal.

I wanted to chide him for his rudeness, but I dared not speak.  Then the other
two heads that could see me had bodies too, and their hands started stroking
their cocks as well.  I felt like a stripper on the stage, with the rules being,
circle jerks fine!

When they'd cum, the first man started again, his appetite unquenched by the
first jack-off, it seemed.  His second weak cum took an hour, I guess, but then
he just kept it up, me the only thing keeping him sane, I imagined, assuming him
not insane, I added to my thought.  That's how the next few endless hours went,
some men dozing off, others looking around miserably, and others catching the
fever and masturbating.  Even the guys to my sides got into the act, me telling
by the sounds, as if they were seeing me through the eyes of the others across
the way.  I was a head and a floorshow without the necessary first date meal.

They came in and fed us, a bottle of water that we guzzled and a bottle of broth
that our weak stomachs were not ready for, but regarding which we all knew we
had to at least try and take in, least we die of starvation.  I was a hundred
and ten pounds, and though I'd been nano shrunk to well under my male height, I
had a quarter of my weight tied up in bouncing knockers the size of volleyballs. 
I dared not miss a drop of the meal, eating quickly when offered the bottles.

Days passed, me eating, peeing, shitting and sleeping as a head.  I'd wake up
with my head numb.  I felt my bones shifting in socket from the horrible pain of
constantly straddling my seat.  There was no relief from it; my legs barely held
me due to their awkward position and the closeness of the pipe.  What had it
been, days, weeks, I had no clue.  The lights never went off, and counting had
been driven to the point of it being numb spots of one, two, three, one, two,
threes.

Six months was simply undoable.  I woke up one, day, morning, afternoon,
evening, whatever, and saw one of the heads a bit too still.  When they came in
to hose us clean, the body over there under that head banged around a bit too
brutally before the Mistress noticed that the man was unresponsive.  They came
in with chains and dragged him out.  Was he dead or sick or what, I had only the
clue that I'd not seen a single movement from him throughout the ordeal.

That day, oddly, was the first day I realized that I was completely naked.  The
last of my clothing had simply been blasted away, and I'd not even noticed when
that moment had passed, my mind on numb and pain channels exclusively.  I was
not a strong girl, I can tell you that, having gone to waste during my lab rat
days due to the nanos, and only having gained marginal strength during my days
in maid training.

Oh, how I longed to be a maid, able to move about, sleep at night, eat real
food, bland as it was; even work seemed a blessing.  Everything there in maid
school had seemed just a head game, I told myself.  This, well, this was hell
itself; intended to kill me.  I just couldn't do it anymore, I told myself,
holding my breath and trying my best to kill myself.  I succeeded once, passing
out from the attempt, but then waking up struggling for air, betrayed by my own
body instincts.

They came and got what was left of 334.  He was wheeled out in a barrel,
literally.  It was still breathing, having grown a nice pair of size B breasts
finally, and having lost half his former dick due to the old nanos finally
having taken to him well (a bit over an inch, flaccid).  But then again, what
was to become of the delirious half man, half woman they'd wheeled out, I
wondered?  Spare parts?  A factory drone?  Goddess, he'd been so much stronger
than me when he'd first been made into a head.  I had no chance at all, I
understood, fatalistic as one can possibly imagine.

Days more passed, my sense of time only breaths as I awaited death with, oddly,
an increasing sense of apathy.

What of my sister, I wondered?  My being made into a head had delayed her
ability to move, I understood.  Of course, she'd forget about me if the meeting
time got too hard to pat down.  And, of course, she'd not been all that forward
about being able to come up with the money.  Maybe, I thought, she'd just used
that as a bargaining tool?  Maybe she did have the willingness to part with
what, for her was chump money, and had just been claiming less interest than she
actually had, in order to keep the price low, I wondered.  Sure, that was it, I
thought.   A lawyer and all with her, it made sense.  Maybe, even, she'd buy me
herself and I'd not be here for six months?  I was a certified maid, after all,
and in that way, purchasable.  At the last minute, like the Calvary, she'd ride
in here and pluck me to safety, laying me back into the comforting bed of the
real world.  In exchange for the favor, she'd no doubt make me marry that woman
she'd talked to me about before I'd made my fateful decision to vacation at
FemWorld.

Unable to cope with the pain of the hated stranger's body that dangled unseen
from the real me (a head), I made up all sorts of scenes of that reunion,
drinking from it.  In time, everything was just a game of thoughts and rescue
fantasies.  I even matched the strokes, crank for crank, of the perpetual
masturbator across the way, it part of my dream-world of a mind unable to focus
on the slightest sense of self worth at all.

FutureDomme  Chapter21

There had been laughing in the corridor, and then laughing closer.  Chat, of
course, ensued, as was part of the fantasy world I made up all of the time, but
also, as part of my maid training, I worked at both channeling it in and
blocking it out.

"Well, I don't know if it's really something I'd want to play with.  It's not
what I came for," said a voice."

"Oh, don't be silly.  We'll clean it up and have some fun with it.  You'll not
even imagine what it was or where we got it, as well," said another voice.

Of course, I knew the voices.  All of the fantasy voices I heard, I knew.  The
players were the same in every single script.  Madam Cloe, and the old, stately
Madam Bellifonte.  There was one of my more insistent and nagging ex-wives too,
Florence, just for color.  The Florence ghost was doing her usual cackling like
a cow thing.  Equally, she had that undecided twitch she did and that small bit
of vulgarity, that drove me crazy, in her comments.  About me, of course,
Florence always had seemingly cute, but cutting comments about me, but not about
me, as if she were simply talking about a memory of me while touring and looking
at someone else while looking my way.  She moved on, still talking about me,
clearly not knowing that I was me at all.

They weren't just heads in my dream, you know.  The heads were men, me and 334
apparently the only nano feminized heads having been in the room, so any
confusion would be easy to sort out on that score.  I dreamed about the real
deal, women who had found their own unique means of tormenting me and making me
what I was today.

I'd been the center of their attention, I can tell you that.  "And now, folks,
we present this Oscar to the head ... ... ... ?"  What as my name anyway?  Cunt. 
Yeah, that's it.  "Cunt," I said, out loud.

There was some other part, of course, I thought.  I had to remember my name, or
I'd vanish, I decided, so I worked it out.  I was one plus 99.  One plus 99
equals one hundred and ninety nine.  Yes, that's right.  I mouthed, weakly, "One
plus ninety is equal to one ninety-nine, madam."

"See!  She'll work it all out.  Just let us give her a couple of hours to
recover.  Guards.  Let it loose.  We've a change of plans," said Madam Cloe, who
instead of having walked away as I'd dreamed, was still there with the
entourage.

I shook my head and looked at her.  She was in a pedestrian outfit, knee length
blue dress, flats, and her hair down.  No!  This was the freakinest
hallucination I'd ever had, I told myself, squinting my eyes and coughing in
order to make room for a normal breath.  Madam Cloe looked human and was opaque,
as if my dreams had grown the third dimension.

Just to prove that I'd died or gone crazy and that hell, or this version of it
at least, was over, I saw the obscenely upper management, and thus godly, Madam
Bellifonte, and of all the people imaginable, that one ex-wife I'd nightmared
about a second ago, Florence.

So, this was hell.  Being unlocked and finding my own bruised and emaciated,
emasculated suck-sack heavy body under my neck again.  I fell into the ugly
thing, it tits and bones, smeared with my own filth, and bruised in a dozen
places from the water cannon.

A couple of guards grabbed an elbow each, and I was tossed into a shower room
where one sponged me with what my dream imagined was soap.  I had my wet hair
done in simple bobby pins, and a sexy, white, panty bra set worked onto my
trembling form.  Pasty long term creams covered my bruises.  Over that they
draped a hot, stretchy, red, body dress that came down to half my thigh.  Thigh
high stockings, black, with seams, but no garters; and red flats completed the
simple, underwearless outfit.

"Ah, there you are, 199.  Sorry for the inconvenience.  I forgot all about you
after the demonstration, I'm afraid to admit.  The rules of the two foot chain
are six months minimum, but we can make someone a head for as long or short as
we like.  I neglected to mention it, and then, of all things, I just plain
forgot where I'd put you, what with all the placements for the other girls and
that excitement going on.  I thought, one short, now where did I put her?  Well,
anyway, no big deal; we have you back and all tidied up and we even have a nice
little thing planned for you this evening.  In fact, if it weren't for the
little thing that came up, I'd have possibly never remembered where I'd left
you, so I suppose that it's a lucky day for us all,"  explained Madam Cloe.

I was still dreaming, I thought, so of course, since it was a dream, I took the
liberty of being both crushed at the news that she'd put me in hell and that
she'd plainly forgotten about me as if I were a hat one had mislaid.  My dream
mouth dryly said, "Wasn't I a good sissy maid, Mistress?"

"Well, since you asked, I have to admit that you have been one of my best
students here.  You've, in fact, been too good.  You blend right in, like the
furniture itself, always a mark of an excellent maid, I think.  And, of course,
no wonder I barely missed you; you being the least of my concerns among the
class, you understand.  Just what a woman about the house needs, and I'd buy you
myself it you hadn't gone and made yourself into such a high sticker pussy."

"And, of course you do understand these things; you're a servant; the best
servants always understand, don't they, my little dickless lamb.  Anyway,
someone came along and jarred my memory, least I forget about you and there be a
discrepancy in our records.  Can't have that, now can we, not at the price
you're apt to fetch?"

I swallowed, the numbness of my mind coming back to something more tangible,
like pain and the loss of my freedom to these female dominants who had taken to
the task of my demotion so thoroughly.  I said, "Thank you, Madam."

"So, you just take a little nap.  Take this pill, it will help you get a bit of
rest, and then we'll be off to something fun in a few.  You'll see; things are
looking up for you.  A working girl is never happy languishing idly on her own,
I have come to think," said Madam Cloe, who gave me some medicine, and laid me
back onto a cot that I'd not even noticed I was on.  I slept almost at once, and
of course I was dreaming, so that was easy enough to do.  And then, after a
time, I woke up from the dream on a dream and everything else, in this little
room with a cot and a half swallowed glass of water.  How I'd gotten there, I
had absolutely no idea because nothing that I'd been through over the past year
could possibly be real.

The room I was in was just off the corridor to the head and chain rooms.  The
guard sat me at her guard desk in the grand hall leading to the cells and did
her best to make me up.  My hair was brushed and then a small, almost ornamental
apron was tied around my slinky red dress.  A lady came to get me, leading me
back up the secured elevators and then into the hotel proper.  Up on level four
we exited, and there at the entrance to room 4128 was Madam Cloe who took me
over.

"We've need of a maid for some entertainment.  Of course, we expect
professionalism and silence from our charges, and no mention of your former self
will be tolerated under severe penalty.  As for Cunt 199, that person has been
dissolved, and has been renamed on your records.   While fooling around in the
basement, you missed the documentation of a name change, my dear."  A nametag
was added to my stretchy red knit dress, it reading, 'Fillina Mia'. 

"One of my favorites.  You're now Fillina Mia Cunt.  Right this way, Fillina,
and on your best behavior."

We entered the room.  It was a big living area, with two bedrooms off to the
side, and a mini-kitchen separated by a bar.  Two women were coming out of one
bedroom, apparently on tour themselves, as if just arriving - though there were
signs that at least one person had been there some time.

"Oh, there we are.  Good to see that you brought some help; I was beginning to
think that we'd have the evening without services, "declared Madam Bellifonte. 
She sat down on the huge leather sofa, the second woman sat well to the other
side of the same couch.  The huge wall mounted television clicked on.  It was
the Grammies, an irresistible chick show, I'd long learned, though the sound of
music in my ears was like liquor, me having gone so long without it.

"Well, see to the drinks, Fillina," whispered Madam Cloe before taking her own
seat in a plush chair.

I was stunned by the sudden change in responsibilities and surroundings.  The
third woman, though she glanced at me, was not particularly impressed, her gaze
going back to the screen once the formalities of introductions had ended.  I was
just the maid to her, though in sexy casual attire that didn't resemble my more
normal maid outfit.  One tiny apron and a nametag separated us like a class
ocean.

I recognized her, of course.  It was one of my ex-wives, Florence, who'd grown
even dumpier and more staid as she'd aged.  I'd not gotten along well with
Florence, and of course, she'd been quick to pick on me when she'd been
delivered the news of my FemWorld vacation.  What a coincidence that she seemed
friendly to Madam Bellifonte and had me as her maid this very evening?

I wanted to tell her that it was me, but then again, I didn't like her all that
much, and didn't want to tell her that it was me either.  Still, beggars can't
be choosy, I was thinking.  I'd always thought that she'd not wanted to part as
much as I'd wanted to be rid of her, and she'd often hinted at getting back
together in our brief conversations of long past, a purely one-sided idea.  No
way would I do it under normal circumstances, but given my predicament, I
suppose I'd do well to swallow some pride and plea my case to her.

Then it struck me that the coincidence wasn't all that likely.  Was she here due
to my sister's attempts to drum up some sort of purchase?  If so, why didn't she
simply get on with it and acknowledge my presence?  Instead, she genuinely
seemed absorbed in the stupid music awards.  I caught my reflection in a mirror
across the way, and it struck me that I simply didn't look five percent like the
old Joe I'd been when I'd first joined on to this vacation a year ago.  The
nanos had made a younger, totally female, thin, short, docile, top heavy, smooth
faced Betty Boop out of me.  The knit, body hugging dress would expose any dick,
should I still have one.  Even my sister hadn't known me, mistaking me for an
ashtray, so the withholding of such info. I'd seen before.

"Well?"  Said Madam Bellifonte, glancing over towards me as if to suggest that
she'd never seen such bad service.

"Sorry, Madam," I curtsied.  "May I take drink orders, madams?"

The godlike Madam Bellifonte sighed, making sure that she'd not entirely
forgiven me, and then said, "Cocktail on the rocks.  You, Florence?"

"Oh, I'll just have a beer."

"Me too," decided Madam Cloe.

I went to get the drinks, and served.  "Anything more, Madam, madam, madam?"

"Yes, some chips and chives dip.  Be quick with it, maid," said Madam
Bellifonte, sending me through some paces as a means of checking on my behavior. 
For the next hour I served my ex-wife and Madam Cloe as they started getting a
bit tipsy.  Most of the time I stood my station in the corner, ever ready to
pick up an empty and offer service.  I was brooding my time, wondering how I
should go about approaching Florence, whom I'd finally convinced myself was
totally unaware of who I was and who might be best told.  Due to the recent
abuse of being a head, my back and legs ached, but somehow the fact of having
been a head gave me the strength to not want to become one again by failing my
duties or just blurting out, "Hey, it's me, Joe!"

"Well, I've left business unattended long enough.  Don't forget to make the
offer we discussed," Madam Bellifonte said to Madam Cloe.  "Evening ladies." 
Madam Bellifonte, got up and moved to the door.  I raced to catch it for her,
nodding a short curtsy as she swung through with a warning eye, but no cutting
words, which meant that I'd redeemed myself, but grace could be fleeting.  It
was a relief that she'd not said anything, given my hesitation at the beginning
of my service.

"Oh yes," said Madam Cloe, reaching over to lower the television sound.  My
ex-wife gave her, her attention.  "Well, how was your week of training seminars? 
Think you're ready to take on the responsibility of slave ownership.  It's quite 
a bit different from servants, I think is the first response I hear our
potential buyers after the qualifying training programs."

"Yes indeed.  I caught that right off.  You have such good support services here
though, should I need help."

"The best.  FedWorld is woman's best friend.  Our rates for retraining and
outside corrective services are beyond the pale."

"Well, I've already decided.  When I've broken my first buys in, I'm coming back
for a few bargains.  I've never been so intrigued with a social plan.  The
training week was unlike any classes I've ever attended, as well.  I'll
recommend just the Mistress training part to my friends, even if they don't buy
a slave.  It's fun, and besides, who knows:  A trained lady might pick up a
stray."

"Well, regarding your intended purchase bid ... Madam Bellifonte has authorized
me to offer you a true bargain deal.  She says that you can bid on your
ex-husband tomorrow and take your chances, or, if you decide to let that pass,
she'll let you buy our equally qualified maid outright tonight."

"Hum.  Really?  You mean, this one?"  Said Florence, turning to look at me.

"Yes.  Not a bad bimbo.  Almost all woman, in fact.  Fillina!  Over here where I
can get at you.  That's a girl."  Madam Cloe reached up and stretched my dress
down so that my breasts flopped out.  Grabbing one in her hand, she squeezed it
for freshness.  "Nice breasts.  Not an ounce of silicon.  See how they feel.  Go
over there, Fillina, and show her what I'm talking about."

I was mortified, my huge knockers hanging out of the stretched top of my dress
and swaying as I walked over to my horrible ex-wife and let her grab them and
get a feel.  I could tell that she felt a bit awkward handling my boobs, but she
gave a few squeezes anyway.

"Nice, I suppose.  You know, to be frank, I'm not really a lesbian.  Lots of us
still are straight.  I like being heterosexual, and plan to remain that way. 
No, I'm still wanting to bid on my ex.  He wasn't much, and he did so terribly
disappoint me by reaching for the divorce so quickly, but now that I have the
upper hand, it has all sorts of intrinsic value to me to buy him back; assuming
I can meet the price.  You know, it makes up for a low part in my life, and
he'll be so much better as a servant than a husband, I'm guessing.  And, of
course, if I don't do it, who will?  His sister simply says he's too much
trouble and has washed her hands of it due to the price.  Several months of
dividends to her; though my funds are a bit better and I have a large estate in
need of hands onboard."

"Oh, now, don't be too hasty.  I think Madam Bellifonte wants to do you a deal
with this one.  She's fallen into a sisterly feeling for you over your vacation
here, it seems.  She has rarely found customers who drink her hours at our side
bar, and has taken a friendship.  So, she wants to give you a seriously low
offer on her.  We are only asking a million and a half as a favor.  When she
goes to auction, it's certain to be far more.  If it were up to me, I'd take her
as my Christmas bonus, but she's far too steep for one of my station.  I'll be
frank and say that I confided to Madam Bellifonte that it was a gift, even if
she has found a liking to you as a friend."

"Not a girl.  Well, as you know, I have use for maids, but she's too good
looking of a product and out of my league for that.  No, I need a man about the
house, and in particular, I need to erase my rejection with new arrangements on
the scumbag who divorced me, one that leaves me more satisfied."

"Well, if you insist, but, ah, let me give you one more consideration to mull
over before you reject such a handsome offer, OK?  Fillina, lift your skirt and
show Florence your pussy."  I was stunned at the request, as seemed Florence,
but knew that I had no choice.  I lifted the hem of my dress, exposing my
unadorned pussy.

"See that.  See the little clit.  A little larger than normal, don't you think?

"Nooooooo!  The shape of it ... well ... it's almost like a ....  It's not a
female servant?  I know that I've seen so many transvestites here, but I just
simply didn't imagine that this one was once a male.  Of course, it could be a
clit.  It's not like I've seen many of them beyond my own," Florence said,
making a face like she wasn't sure that she could believe her own eyes.

"Seriously, Florence, do you think we have female slaves here?  It's strictly
against our bylaws to house or train females in this country and I don't even
think it's legal in the broader society yet for women to commit permanently to
such a status; nor should it be.  By FemWorld, we mean to say, GuyDominance. 
Everything we put out is a man, or at least was a man and is a man in some ways
still.  This is a product of a very special nano test that we've since
abandoned.  That's why she is so special, and why I think a million and a half
is an amazing offer, even for a heterosexual such as yourself.  I think that
Madam Bellifonte really did like spending her time with you this week, and wants
to thank you; no sales pitch intended."

"Well, it is tempting."

"Turn around, Fillina, and show the lady what you look like.  See.  Perfect
figure.  A little thin, but after all, she is a slave and the papers to enforce
that legally.  Don't mind the bruises; a misunderstanding as opposed to
correction problem, and besides, she'll heal.  You'll have nothing but feeding
and bedding to worry over with this one.  Make her a dumpling if you want, once
you own her.  She's my best student; trained her myself, I did.  And, just to
make it complete, the nanos haven't affected her original heterosexuality in the
least.  See how sad she looks, now that she can't fuck anymore.  Never more to
feel the sweetness of a pussy grasping her penis, she's come to understand. 
Delicious, that."

"You're orientation won't in the least bit be compromised, given that she's a
biological man, balls small but complete in that faux pussy somewhere.  She
truly hates being fucked my men, though she can be made to service your lovers
since she has no choice, if that amuses you.  She'll hate it, but all the better
for fun in my book when they protest like piggies.  Oh, I'm boring you with my
own sadistic impulses."

"No, not in the least.  I'm almost tempted.  Speaking of piggies, can I buy her
and then still bid on my husband in the morning?"

"Well, there we have it.  Madam Bellifonte has touched on that with me.  She
stipulates that if you accept this one, then you can't bid on your husband as
well.  I have no idea why she's being this way about it, but I think it has
something to do with her own special sense of amusement and business fun.  You
know, like a reality game show thing where you have to make a choice, and then
find out that it has a funny twist to it in the end.  I'm not at liberty to
explain it at the moment."

"Gee, that's too bad.  I was thinking about buying her, but I'm simply going to
have to put my energy into getting a good bid on my former husband.  I do, so
much want my revenge and honor back from the prick."

"I suggest that you buy her.  Forget the husband.  Seriously; you'll thank me in
the morning.  Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Oh, is my ex-husband, and soon to be personal lacky, in bad shape?"

"No, no, not any worse of better than this one, I can assure you.  The price is
certain to be steep, as I've told you."

"Well then, no.  I'm afraid not.  Final offer, no.  Can't do it, but I promise
to take the frustration of not having this lovely transvestite maid instead of
being stuck with him again out on my husband, once I have him in my hands.  I
can see that she is special at a million and a half.  The ladies group would
never get over the envy at bridge if I had such a maid at my bell.  Any chance
that they'll offer these nano enhanced beauties in the future?"

"Too much loss.  Almost half went to parts right off due to weakness.  This one
survived out of sheer will and due to fairly good health to begin with.  You
have no idea how strong and manly he was when he started here.  I think we have
sold the other few already.  This is the best and last of her kind, and now that
the nanos are done, perfectly healthy."

"Damn!  What a good product."

"Oh, not to worry.  We'll get plenty of use from her tonight.  Lots of good
memories, if you don't mind sharing?"

"Him!"

"Oh yes, I forgot; you're heterosexual.  Him it shall be.  Oh, I have an idea. 
What did you say your ex-husband's name was?"

"It was Joe."

"Well then, so that you don't get any strange feelings and forget that he's a
man in that slinky red knit dress, let's call him Joe.  Help you loosen up about
him.  In fact, I believe that we include an emergency wardrobe, shirt, some
pants, a pair of black shoes and socks in the closet.  Go ahead in there, Joe,
and put on some man clothes for us.  You may have to pass on buying him, but we
can at least get an evening worth of mileage out of him tonight, don't you
think?  Make the Grammies more exciting anyway."

"Oh.  Well, since you put it that way.  Yes.  Go get dressed ... Joe, if that's
what your name is tonight.  And, while you're at it, I found a strap-on in the
second drawer of this pleasant little pleasure suite.  Put it on and leave it
hanging out of your fly when you get back!"

"That's so devilish!  You have learned a trick or two from our seminars."

I heard them giggling as I walked into the bedroom.  I was just a plaything to
them, I understood, a defeated sub-human form.  All of this, of course, was
totally nuts:  My ex-wife had passed me over for a bid on me and then Cloe had
renamed me myself and both of them wanted me dressed as me with a fake cock so
that my ex-wife could imagine me, the old dick enhanced me while making me their
evening's sex slave; all of this just a fun night before my ex bids on me as a
means of forcing me back into the fold I'd escaped in what I recall having been
my most enjoyable divorce.  In the mean time, when she finally had to bid on me
at auction, what would she think about all of this when the reality hit her that
I'd been the previous evening's lunch and that she'd passed up a better deal
than the bid might offer?  As for me, I had no choice but to play along.  Even
if I protested, would Florence realize it was me, or me faking to be me while
faking me?  All very confusing.

Not to mention that outing myself as me to Florence was still unthinkably
humiliating.  I didn't like Florence; hadn't since well before the divorce. 
This was all just so sad, I thought, as I put the strap-on on and then dressed
over it as a man.  None of the clothing fit, me now more of a candidate for the
boy's department, but I managed to make it look a little decent.  The fact that
I had a plastic dick hanging out of my fly was a necessary distraction to the
poor fit, I suppose.

Just before I went out into the living room again, I promised myself that I'd
not do a thing to give Madam Cloe an excuse to make me a head again.  That
needed reminding, particularly due to all the confusing aspects of the evening. 
I mean, at least I wasn't getting buggered tonight.  With that upbeat thought, I
swaggered in, a cock twice the length of my old one, and twenty times the length
of my new one, swinging magnetically for the pleasure of both women's eyes.

The drink loosened up Florence, sadly, aided perhaps by the training she'd
received and Cloe's insistence that I was a natural on my knees.

"Come on, Joe.  Lick my pussy right.  Not like an ice cream cone.  Slowly. 
Little circles.  That's right.  Get inside now, and then slowly around the
sides.  The Grammies are apt to be all night, and there's no rush at all! 
Chips, Cloe?"  I'd had a kinky time or two with Florence, but never in mixed
company.  Society had changed, and finally caught Florence in its web.

"Don't mind if I do," Madam Cloe said, cheering instead when some diva got her
fifth award for doing pre-manufactured corporate-world songs.

"Oh.  I'm usually not this much of a slut in company," confided Florence.

"Think nothing of it.  Besides, you have your skirt over him mostly.  Think of
it like a massaging chair.  We stressed that in the seminar.  Men are done
sexually repressing women!  Never apologize for having natural pleasure.  The
man's club is kapoot.  The women's club has arrived.  Remember that thing Arnold
Schwarzenigger once said about that one black girl and all the men having her at
once.  You know, the thing that got him in political trouble in California? 
Imagine men bragging in public about a thing like that," Asked Madam Cloe.

"Oh, I was young then, but I do recall my mother making a deal about it."

"Well, we've come a long way, baby.  A guy like that between your legs, all
horny and unable.  In spite of it, the thrill is depriving him, allowing you the
freedom of knowing that the only orgasm necessary is yours; people have even
come to expect it like this.  What, with the dick he had and definitely with the
one he has, you're doing him a pleasure by not making him make a fool of himself
by pretending it fits into a woman anyway," declared Madam Cloe.

"My husband wasn't all much more than average.  The only time I really had an
orgasm was when he ate me.  Not nearly as good at it as this one, though.  This
one has a technique like he's petting me; no rush to get it over with like most
men do.  Your training is excellent.  Fact is, with my husband I used to fake an
orgasm when he'd put his dick in me.  So much for pretenses.  I'll never again
fake it, and if I just don't want one, he'll just have to suffer down there with
a sore tongue.  I'm almost decided to buy this one and pass that old husband
up."

"Deal's still out there."

"No, that's not right; I did chat a long time with his sister about salvaging
the old bum.  You see, she used to think that my no-nonsense hand with her
brother was the best match-up of his many failed marriages.  We're on good
terms, so I owe her at least that much."

"Too bad.  Well then, as for this one; when you're done with him, I'm taking him
into the bedroom and seeing what he can do with his freshly sprouted strap-on
cock.  Never seen a real one so big and hard, well, not around here anyway, and
my goddess, it never seems to get soft!"

"Hee hee.  You're too much, Cloe.  Torturing the she-he.  I can't imagine what
it must be thinking with all of this one-sided participation," laughed Florence,
her pussy bouncing as she laughed, making it hard for me to forget that I was
eating her pussy in far too casual a manner to make me feel any sense of
emotional attachment.  I was a distant second to Cloe and the Grammies in terms
of her attention, much of the time, and thus Cloe's remarks about me being a
vibrating chair were virtually sync.

FutureDomme  Chapter22

I woke that morning on the floor where Cloe had kicked me when done.  I'd acting
like a man with a dick until done with.  Without the pleasure part of it,
pumping a cock had never been so much back breaking work, I understood - nor
such a brutal reminder of what I'd been one brief year prior.

After such a short time from having been a head, and the long night of
entertaining, I'd been too tired to even massage my clit to an orgasm.  Besides,
it'd not been sex to me, Cloe a tyrant in my life, and Florence an earlier form
of misery.  Under such circumstances, I couldn't even find headspace within
which to fantasize myself to a cum in the presence of such women.  Conditioned
to early rising, however, I awoke with drooping eyes, but steady resolve to not
be found sleeping when one of the women awoke to kick me back to life.

Yes, the women were sleeping, Cloe in a room, and my ex in the large, plush
couch.  Several beer bottles lay strewn in crumbs of chips, attesting to the
celebration.

I knew enough to keep quiet, and to take off my male clothing, substituting for
the dress and apron.  Then I started cleaning around them on tiptoes, hoping it
the right course of action.  The sun crept in past a seam in the curtains,
enticing me to look out for a second at the peeping sun and the sleeping city. 
A few cars made their way in perfectly normal precession.  I did not linger,
knowing the dangers of appearing too inefficient, least an eyelid open and spy
me lingering.  When the place was clean, I stood in a corner, hands crossed in
front of me as I'd been so well trained to stand during my maid training, ever
so thankful that I'd managed my cleaning in such stealth.

The phone rang.  Out of sight in the bedroom, Madam Cloe answered softly, and
then emerged, spotting me right away.  "They're coming to get you.  Make this
good, Joe ... or, I mean, Fillina.  I think that you'll find today very
exciting.  Not every day a slave gets put up on the auction block like something
out of a Huck Finn novel.  I imagine that this is the sort of thing you
submissives fantasized about when you signed on."  With that she went back to
sleep, knowing I'd do as bid.

I thought about running.  I looked out the window again, imagining myself
climbing down from window sill to window sill like some spy out of Double-O-7,
which of course I wasn't.

They came for me, taking me to a room on the first floor, where I was lightly
fed, cleaned up, my hair done and my makeup made perfect.  They affixed me a set
of rough iron chains for my ankles and wrists, black and old looking, completing
a macabre mixture of naked sissy and 18th century slave appeal.  A few strands
of hair dangled at one side, faux disarray.

From there I was hustled to a waiting room.  Along one side of the room were ten
male slaves, still male, all buff, save for small cocks, a staple around here,
and certainly a nano most of us got, regardless of our assignments, I was
thinking; other than the studs, of course.  Men with tiny cocks were thought to
be more appealing and less of a threat (to both Mistress and spouse), I assumed.

Two other maid slaves were there along the side of the room I'd been steered to. 
One was a timid and half paranoid sissy with a three inch noodle for a cock. 
She was feminine enough for an old nano model, and well frightened into a clam. 
The other was Cunt 334.  Cunt 334 still had four inches of dick, a most
incomplete feminized specimen, given that he'd clearly missed much of the
training.  He looked mostly guy, or well aged woman, the nanos having a lot more
work than they'd been cut out for, for the bruiser.  A good maid outfit would
have helped a ton with him, but I'd gathered that they wanted us naked, perhaps
allowing for better inspection.  What surprised me most was how well he'd healed
up and had been made ready for his sale.  I sensed a tiny bit of feistiness to
him as well, as if six months as a head had done him only about ninety percent
of what he needed done to him in order to make him a decent servant.

I kind of disliked him for being so bad, thinking myself better than he due to
my obviously more feminine maid look and better countenance.  Reflecting upon
that, I realized it for the catch-22 it was.  When my ex and sister finally had
me home, I'd have a long way to go to get back to being my old self again. 
Would they foot the full nano conversion back to manhood?  I was hoping that
they'd at least give me a loan to get things a little right.  Maybe if I kept
some of my femininity (almost certainly unavoidable) I'd be able to find a
better job than I had as a male and even be able to pay them back.  I'd settle
for some shrinking on the tits and a big, fat cock swelling.  Well, anyway, I
was on my way home, and it felt good, in spite of the humiliation of having to
go home via a bid from my unlovable ex-wife.

"What do you think they intend to make of you?" I asked 334 in a whisper as the
morning dragged on.

"I don't know.  They gave me some more of that stupid maid training that you
seemed so enamored with.  It was like a flash course, from what I've learned."

I figured, by-gones be by-gones, and said, "Good luck."

Right about then, the door opened, and we were all stood up by a couple of
guards holding stun guns.  We all marched behind some thick theatre curtains. 
The whole lot of ten laborers was sent out in front of that curtain before us
three.

I could hear really well from where I stood in back with one guard watching over
us last three like a shepherd.  She had a smile that seemed to say to us, "Now
I've got you where I've always wanted you," as if a true man hater.

From the other side of the curtain, an auditorium full of people started
clapping.  The MC, a female, said, "Welcome to the first sale of the day.  We're
starting with a lot sale of ten laborers.  They've all been through our very
special 'haste makes waste' program, where we instill in them the need to work
hard, quickly and with maximum quality standards.  Perfect for the factory or
large shop environment.  Please, slaves, turn around, and let our audience get a
look from all sides.  Arms up.  Teeth!  Nano enhanced; no untidy erections here. 
We guarantee a ninety-five percent reduction in erections from all of our labor
products and do advise chastity.  So, if you're looking for a few boys to make
things lively around the plantation, perhaps these are not to your taste. 
Otherwise, our calculators predict a total of six hundred and forty-four man
years of pure hard labor on this block at this time."

I was staggered at the prospects the MC was laying on the audience.  What did
that come out to in days served?  It's one thing to think of one as a slave at
the mercy of a bunch of maniacs, but to imagine them serious about selling them
off to someone intent upon keeping whole groups of men on chains for, (not
fictional), but literal lifetimes, and then working them to the very bone right
into the grave, well that's uncivil!  This wasn't fair.  They'd trapped us all
in their confidence scheme with advertising that wasn't all that informative,
and a shoddy internment process that had us signing everything in front of us
like dizzy blondes.

"Two point seven five, is our starting bid.  I have Beckmans; excellent.  Three
even.  Three point four.  Three point four five.  Do I hear four?  Do I hear
four?  Do I hear three point nine?  Three point eight from Kodain.  Three point
eight five.  Three point eight five.  Three point eight five?  I have three
point nine.  Four.  There we go.  Four point one.  Anyone.  Anyone?  Going once. 
Going.  Going.  Gone.  Plymouth Egg Farms.  Thank you very much.  Please. 
Marker is taken and honored for those we know to be steady customers.  I do want
Madam Plymouth to see what is next and not be busied with payment at this time. 
We have a very interesting three more to show you before the break, Stella."

"I'd stay if just for the show," shouted a woman from the audience, me assuming
it Stella Plymouth, apparently some sort of egg farm corporate sweatshop tyrant.

Cunt 334 was next, and it wasn't good.  Some of the women actually hissed.  Part
of me wanted to see that, but most of me dreaded confronting the audience at
all.  My face was already red, and I was just standing behind the curtain.

"We're selling a maid surplus.  This one comes with no guarantees, but as you
know, we take our guarantees quite seriously.  Plenty of training has been put
into our surplus models, and in this case, six months as a head, proving at
least stamina.  Take it as a maid if you like risks, or take it as labor, but
mostly, put the animal in some chains and take it off our hands, ladies."

A roar of laughter ensued.  Knowing 334, I half expected him to yell, "Shove it
up your ass," but then again that was an attitude he only held against me; he
picked on only the weak and had always been a coward in front of Madam Cloe.  He
was actually in trouble of not selling and thus making his way onto a parts
assembly line, I was thinking.  That sales pitch was no raving endorsement.

In the end, he went to a parts fabrication shop for a couple hundred thousand. 
That parts word had kind of an ominous tone to it, but I was guessing it
something like car parts in this case.  He'd be buffing bumpers forever.  Maybe
334 would fit in there perfectly, I was hoping, having started to really feel
sorry for him.  I mean, why not like him?  He was just the most manly of our
group, the rest of us having tossed away our manhood at the first sign of fear. 
I looked down at myself and realized how easily and deeply I'd denuded my
masculinity due to my terror of the women overseeing my every move.  Of all, I
realized, I'd been perhaps the one with the most shame.

The next maid was sold for four times as much to just some independent lady in
need of some service.

Suddenly it was just me, led around the curtain and the out with the buildup,
"And now for what might be the best item we've had on our block in some time.  I
know that some of you have visited us special this week for just this item in
our ten A.M. showing.  It's a new nano product that we admit is no longer
available due to the risk these experimental nanos endured upon our other test
animals, but in this case it has miraculously worked out to perfection.  You've
seen the ads.  You've seen the e-mails.  You saw it pictured in our corporate
flier.  I introduce to you the ideal FemWorld sissy maid, first in his class,
manhood as good as eliminated, pussy whipped to perfection, the one, the only,
perfectly emasculated:  Fillina Mia Cunt!"

I shuffled out, doing my chained best to prance with flirty hands and pursed
lips, in spite of no outfit nor shoes.  My naked sissy shuffle was met with a
standing ovation of mostly women.  In fact, it startled me most that some of the
women came with men, and in a few rows, there were several men in groups, some
groping their crotches, and all fixated upon my boobs.  Still, it was
ninety-five percent women, many of them also fixated upon my tits; and
apparently I'd been expected.  Mostly they looked corporate, as if this was big
business mixed with pleasure, and maybe even tax deductible.

Florence, in dining, rather than business attire, was well back in row ten.  I
started doing math in my head.  I occurred to me that if I had such an insane
buildup, I'd go for way more than the one point five she'd been offered the
night before.  The other, much more common maid had nearly touched a million. 
Florence was loaded, but not corporate loaded.  Would she see me as worth the
extra after bumbled the deal the night before?  I could feel the sweat starting
to drip from my frail body.

I looked at Florence over the heads of the standing and clapping crowd, and her
eyes were saucers when it hit her that I was the guy she'd come to buy and that
I was Fillina as well.  She'd spent part of the evening with my tongue between
her legs, calling me Joe for amusement, citing how much better I was than he at
eating at the Y, and not even suspected I was the real Joe for a second.  I
started to worry that she'd think me a traitor for not warning her to take me at
one point five - not knowing that I had no such disclosure choice.  In fact, she
did look pissed, next time I glanced at her with my instinctively trained,
fluttering, Bambi eyes and skirtless bob.

My mind went numb. I thought the most unlikely thing imaginable:  Fuck, I'm
going to be sold to an egg factory to work in hot, sticky chicken shit for the
rest of my life!  Not remotely possible, that, but I'd grown to imagine the
worst possible thing to be the most likely.

I had to impress her, so I sauntered up the last few feet and feigning a full
curtsy directly in her direction, eye contact the only abridgement to good form. 
She shook her head, as if shaming me, and as my ex, I knew that look well.  It
was not a good start.  In fact, in doing so good a prance and chained curtsy,
I'd only further delighted the rest of the crowd - a definite negative that
might only drive the price up higher.  Lose, lose, seemed the only outcomes I'd
been confronted with since arriving on my two week FemWorld vacation!

"Now ladies, don't frighten the poor dear.  He's only recently been denuded and
misses the sanctity of his uniform.  See how the dear blushes so sweetly, and
can you even find what is left of the poor dear's cocklett.  No dicking around
for this one; been made into the nearest thing to a pussy one can become and
still have the urges only for pleasing women.  Not that I want to discourage our
male bidders; her mental predispositions are of no concern, given her full legal
status as a nationally registered slave and it's so much fun making one do the
unlikable.  Now, ladies, if dicks are your cup of tea, I'm suggesting that you
stick around for a stud in a subsequent auction - those of you who are
heterosexual are going to need an addition to this; though, as I say, I'm told
that this one is strictly interested in the ladies, and so, if it's the tongue
that pleases you the best, girls, that's a talent and taste that we hone to
perfection at FemWorld."

Whistles started mixing in with the ceaseless clapping.

"Sissy, can you tell us all the division of two hundred and twenty four by
four?"

That was an easy enough question, and considering my nervousness, about as hard
of one as I could manage.  I answered, "Cunt Felinna wishes to say, two, madam." 
My voice was the kind of nervous, Betty Boop squeak that microphones were made
for.

"Smart for a bimbo too, don't you think?  Turn around, slave, and let them all
see your sweet round ass cheeks.  Watch out for the hubby around this girl. 
Yes, nice cheeks, and the legs are divine.  Two holes on this sex kitten; three
if you count those fat, pursed lips.  His only blemishes are his slave numbers. 
He is trained in all of the maid services, domestic, sexual, or whatever your
use may be.  An excellent cook.  Think of it as the perfect ornament around the
Beverly Hills mansion.  Sex, of course, is not necessarily a part of the
arrangement in spite of the playful comments earlier, and considering the size
of that sausage between his legs, good thing perhaps!"

The clapping had ceased, and the women seated, but the last line brought a roar
of laughter.  Florence was not amused.  I felt my heart sinking.  If Florence
didn't win me, I'd be in hot shit.  Only she and my sister were inclined to save
me from this.  The rest wanted a real slave; for sure; no bull-shit about
getting corrective nanos, freeing me and making something of a man out of my
ass.  I'd almost counted on salvation since seeing Florence and realizing that
my sister had come up with something.  Now I was horribly unsure.  Some of the
women out there I actually recognized as celebrities in the upscale world.  A
couple of million to some of them was like buying lunch at fast food to me
(which incidentally I craved).  I'd, no doubt, bring a steep price.

I showed my teeth.  The MC was a big lady, six feet tall or more, and in strict
black shirt and skirt.  Her riding crop tapped my thighs, telling me to spread
my legs and give them a show of my pussy as I was made to spread my lips with my
hands as well.  Then she had me gallop in place, my tits flopping like punching
bags.  They had all of that natural gravity and bounce - not at all like silicon
from the brutal days of my youth before nanos.

"Yes, isn't he something.  We have records that indicate daily class performance
at the top of his sissy bimbo classes one hundred and eleven days out of one
hundred and seventy-four.  Not only are you bidding on what looks like a wet
dream to a pimp, but you are looking at a sissy whose heart and soul breathes
domestic service to the lucky bidder.  So, without ado, can I hear one point
five?"

It seemed like the whole audience had a hand up.  Of course that was wrong, but
it was a lot, maybe fifty out of the several hundred in attendance.  The
auctioneer realized her mistake, and jumped to, "Two point three.  Do I get a
two point four.  Yes, and a two point five.  Two point five.  Two point five?  I
have a two point six; thank you Madam Rockefeller.  A two point seven.  Mister
Adid.  Two point eight?  Two point eight.  Do I hear a two point seven five?"

I couldn't believe it.  Florence was still pissed, and hadn't once raised her
hand.  I'd been passed from a snooty old woman of obvious fame, and fortune, and
then to some Arab looking old man by the name of Adid.  And, the bidding was
slowing.  I looked at the pudgy man of maybe fifty-five, and almost lost my
bladder.

The auctioneer primed the audience by running her hand over my bush and lifting
a tit.  "Do I hear a two point seven five?  Gone once.  Ah, a two point seven
five from Florence.  We are asking two point eight.  Two point eight.  Yes. 
Now, a two point eight five."

The auctioneer slapped my ass, sending my whole body quivering sharply.

I was back to being high bid by that Arab pervert.  The price was steep.  The
egg factory had picked up ten slaves for only a million or so more.  How much
could the room endure?  And yet, someone had to win me from that MAN!  I could
see him about to raise his hand, but then, no, that wasn't right, because he was
winning, and needed no bid.  The hand went to his crotch, where it scratched
menacingly.

"Two point eight five.  Yes, Madam.  Thank you.  Do I get a two point nine. 
Yes, a two point nine?  Florence is in a position.  Ah, Mister Adid at two point
nine.  Two point nine.  Two point nine once.  Reconsider, reconsider.  Such a
lovely."

I felt the auctioneer pinch my left nipple and yank my tit around a few inches
for effect, though I was too bambi eyed with pleading for any of the women to
have mercy on me and buy me from the Arab men to care about the small pain.

"Perfect for the chat of the night at those parties.  Two point nine anyone? 
Going once?  Gone again?  Sold to Mister Adid!"  The auctioneer dropped her grip
on my nipple.

"Uhhhh," I groaned, my legs unable to support me as I fainted.  It was short
lived peace, the stars only beginning before I found my knees and was helped up
by the auctioneer's apparently comforting hand.  Christ, female fingers; would
this be the last time I felt them?

The man was standing, and with him were what looked like two sons of striking
resemblance, both mid twenties, and all eager to claim the virgin pussy that I
suddenly realized I must seem to them.  There was no informal waving of checks
for them; the old man was writing one as he walked up the center aisle.  Some of
the women looked a bit displeased at a man winning such a prize.  A few clapped
politely.  I looked at Florence and she was shaking her head as if to tell me
that it was all my fault for getting myself into such a mess in the first place.

"Well, can we all give one last applause to our prized bimbo maid and her new
owners, the Adids from Southern Sudan?  Wow; I guess she's in for some 'hard'
time in the harum."  The crowd gave the applause, but not much of one, as the
men found the stage.  One of the sons had a collar of steel.  Attached to that
was a chain leash.  Though I looked twenty and he twenty-five, I was really
twenty years older than the man about to make me into the family cunt, only
adding to my humiliation.  I closed my eyes and awaited the beginning of my
greatest horror, the probable cocksucking cunt slave to a family of what I was
guessing to be Arab oil sheiks, or maybe worse, Arab warlord whorehouse women
beaters.

FutureDomme  Chapter23

They took me backstage, and then into the same room where we'd stayed while
awaiting the auction.  There was a chill, but since I was the only one naked, I
was the only one noticing.  The Arab men fondled me, chatting in a foreign
tongue in clear, delight at having bought such a prized filly.  It was clear as
a bell that their delight was due to having bought such a well endowed addition
to the harem.  The idea of waiting to plum me until I'd been tucked safely away
in some African ostrich feather bed was remote.  It even occurred to me that
they might do me right in the room, others around to witness or not.

Then even more women came in.  A few guards, followed by Madam Cloe.  There was
a conversation in a corner between the auctioneer and Madam Cloe.  I caught the
auctioneer nodding to the guards secretly, and a pair of them found places by
both doors, stun guns at quiet ready.  Did they imagine me about to run?  It had
occurred to me, but only as a concept, not as anything remotely possible, in
spite of the emotional overload I felt at having been sold to the worst possible
buyers.

Madam Bellifonte walked in with two more guards, and beside her was that sour
looking ex-wife of mine.  Florence took one look at me and shook her head no,
shamingly.  She said, "Well, Joe, what do you have to say for yourself now?"

"Sorry, Madam," I tried, but she cut me off with an:

"Save it for your new owners.  I'm only sorry that it isn't me about to send you
through your justly deserved paces, slut."  She found a place by Madam
Bellifonte.

The room was getting a tad crowded, the Arabs distracted by my pussy and how
they could put a whole finger in without resistance.  I scrambled on tiptoes
instinctively reacting to the insult, and scowled, a face that only heightened
their fingering, probably taking it as virginity, which I suppose it was.  They
delighted in my timid dance.  While I was being thus violated, the older one was
still trying to pawn the check off onto the auctioneer who kept insisting that
the accountant would take it off his hands when she arrived.

Then, of all people, Lisa walked in the door.  I smelled her as she walked by,
she seemingly unaware that I'd been the guy she'd promised to try to get
together with when I'd made my way through in-processing.  Of course, I'd long
since grown to understand that it had been the pheromones that had, had me
suddenly in love and trusting of her.  It had also been this pheromone induced
smell that had made me trusting enough to have signed my whole life away without
half reading what she'd put in front of me.  She'd even told me (me to love
struck to cognitize it) that she changed pheromones dozens of times per day
while in-processing an endless stream of suckers.  The smell off of her was no
longer my pheromones, I understood, me seeing her as attractive still, but not
overwhelmingly so and oddly, not much more of the dish than I'd become.

Instead, I saw the old Arab man's eyes light up.  I put two and two together on
the spot.  The old Arab was infatuated with her instantly, and thus it was
probable that she'd put his pheromones on before entering.  From their
familiarity I understood that she and he had met before, as well.  Lisa giggled,
spoke to him in perfect Arabic, and actually blushed; the perfect actress for
her black widow role, I gathered.  The loveliest of women; I wondered how many
men she'd seduced into hell itself?

The Arab kissed her hand.  Both of the Arab sons braced me, one still rudely
fondling my pussy so brashly that his fingers made no erotic zone sense.  Damn
but, even in this mixed crowd of actors, I was the one who was the shameless
piece of ass.  I was the one shamelessly naked.  I was, after so long in slave
stables, out of place.  And yet, these were slavers, pimps, perverts, evil
ex-wives and evil seductresses.  Hell, deep down on a moral plane, I was the
only ethical creature among this horde.

"May I bring everyone to attention," said Madam Bellifonte.  The small undertone
of chatting ceased, and everyone in the room turned to listen to the powerful
old woman speak:

"We have an issue.  But, after some investigation, I believe that we have also
found a most delightful solution.  The sale, it seems, has met a snag, but the
details can be worked around, it seems."

I almost fainted again.  Could there be hope?  "The details can be worked
around," seemed to say, perhaps not.  Soundlessly, a couple more guards entered
the room behind us all.  Only I noticed, my head down as required, and having
been trained to be attentive.  Glancing past a shoulder, I saw guns in holsters
and sets of chains in a cloth bag.  They certainly intended to ensure my
compliance, I realized.

"Our associate, Ms. Lisa Drumsbee, has been seeing to the Adid accounts.  She
does things like setting up payment transfers, getting the gentlemen their
rooms, doing background checks in order to make sure that we don't have some
kind of reformists attending our better auctions, and of course ensuring that
the winners have all met the training requirements for slave ownership.  On
occasion she adds a form or two for our protection and these get signed along
with the rest, though they are stored in a special file.  Mustn't have the
FemWorld Association found to have not dotted all of the Federal I's and crossed
all of the Federal T's."

"Very fine.  Very good businesswoman, your Lisa.  Can, work for me, she?  I give
double my check to FemWorld.  I give double pay to Lisa.  She have own house;
many slaves for feet," said the older Adid.  I knew the feeling.  I couldn't
imagine the old man bagging her for sheer cash and a house though; but then
again, all I really knew of Lisa was that she sold out twenty men a day, so who
knows?

"Well, I'll consider it, but first we need to finish the transaction currently
before us, Mister Adid.  You and your sons will all need to sign the transaction
form before we can process any slaves for transfer.  Just here, and here, and
then the date.  This second form.  Very nice.  Your sons?  Yes, perfect.  Do you
have any questions?"  Said Lisa, having him sign on the forms that rested on her
clipboard.  Lisa adjusted her sexy clerical glasses and then had my ex-wife sign
as a witness, given that she wasn't one of the FemWorld staff and was
convenient.

Shit, by ex-wife had just witnessed my signing away to a bunch of horny men from
a hellish, inescapable, equatorial African eternal night!  How wrong was that!?!

The old Adid looked at me, smiling a hungry smile.  Then he looked at Lisa, with
an attempt at a bit more romantic of a lingering look, and said, "Very good.  We
talk about you now.  Want come live.  No sons.  You just for me and make very
happy.  Pay three times and you not work much."

"I'm afraid that your wife will not approve.  Oh yes, I know all about her.  You
see, she would probably be offended if I showed up on her doorstep, you silly
old man.  Anyway, she'll have her hands full at her estate even without me
hanging around, don't you imagine?  And now, in your absence, Mister Adid; well,
we'd fight like cats," explained Lisa.  "But, please, come this way and I'll see
if I can relieve you of the stress of worry over all of those kinds of concerns. 
Please.  While you are here, you have all of our attention.  Your sons can wait
here, if they like, while I get you settled into something more suiting?"  She
winked at the sons, and then at Madam Bellifonte.

The sons did seem a bit sad to hear that Lisa was leaving them to go play with
the father alone, but allowed Lisa to escort Mister Adid out into another room
anyway, probably thinking that if Lisa had taken up the offer that the old man
might find an early grave.  For my part, the thought of being tossed to this
riff-raff was worse than the thought of being a slave.

Madam Bellifonte said, "So, that makes things much more manageable in here with
only two of the Adids to deal with.  But first, Florence, I can see from your
face that you are a little upset at having had the chance at your former husband
last night.  We could have told you all of the details, but then again, we'd
have missed all of the lovely drama of the auction, don't you imagine?"

"It does add significantly to what I had to bid, and then, of course, I lost. 
His sister and I still are very good friends, and it's mostly for her friendship
that I'm worried.  She'll not be happy that I was outbid, but I honestly don't
think him worth half of what I offered."

"I do understand.  Most of those bidding went so high due to the novelty.  It's
difficult to meet such an unusual expectation, even if it is a former relative. 
Anyway, I'm prepared to make you an offer.  We have the Adid money, and thus
will settle for the pre-arranged one point five; assuming you still eager to
take possession of the property?"  Said Madam Bellifonte.

"My goodness, but he has already been sold."

"No, no.  You see, she might have been ..."

Florence interrupted, "He, you mean....  Oh, forget it, she is just as good, I
guess.  It does seem a losing fight even for me to think of him as a man
anymore."

"Well, as I was saying, she or he might have been, but the Adids have a slight
problem with taking delivery.  They've all just signed the last papers necessary
in order to intern them for one of our short vacations here at FemWorld.  I do
promise that it will be very short for them; no more than six months, and in a
very secure place where all they need to manage is a couple of feet worth of
chain.  We simply will not allow a slave to take possession of a slave.  I mean,
what would be the point?  Guards!"

The guards startled even me, shoving me aside as they shoved and then stunned
the two young men who'd been so rudely fondling me.  In seconds they were in
chains not unlike mine in restraint, but of much newer and shinier construction. 
Two guards sat on each man as heavy metal collars were riveted around their
necks.  Arab oaths of revenge filled the air, met by another sting of the stun
guns.

Everyone had stepped aside, me the most frightened, given that I was a slave and
sure to be the brunt of anything ugly.

"I must say, that's a bit unexpected.  Didn't you have an agreement with them,
Madam Bellifonte?"  Asked my evil ex-wife.

"Oh, that.  Well, we did some investigation, as we do on all of our clients.  It
seems that the Adids have taken possession of slaves other than those they have
purchased here.  They have, for example, thirteen female slaves, all illegally
obtained through associates in Northern Africa.  This, of course, is deplorable
to us.  We simply cannot abide a man who does such things.  Anyway, his property
has been signed over to us for quite some time; a thing we did, let's say, under
the table, but quite legally, it will appear.  We'll open negotiations with his
wife for the release of the female slaves to our care and retraining.  In
exchange we'll not pursue any transfer of ownership to the property she
inherits, and even assist her in ensuring that she retain it, as opposed to it
going to some uncle of other miscreant."

"Unbelievable," said my ex.

"Yes.  We have the highest moral position at FemWorld.  We'd have never used our
forms on the Adids, had the issue of female enslavement not come to light. 
Don't worry your head over any of this matter.  For all of the male submissives
out there on the web, we offer the best service they could ever imagine. 
Fulfill dreams, I like to think.  On the other hand, had we been organized in
1860, we'd have advanced the Civil War a full year.  The wholesale enslavement
of races, and in particular women, is not warranted.  Quite a different thing
indeed."

"So, what will become of them?"  Asked Florence as the guards dragged the two
Arab men through the same door out which their father had gone.  I was quite
sure that Lisa had seen to a similarly efficient handing of the father and that
they'd all meet up soon enough in that dungeon with the water cannon.

"Oh, that's the delicious part.  I find them so repulsive that I simply can't
imagine such creatures rehabilitated.  I'm giving them six months on a two foot
chain, and then we'll have their bodies turned out for parts.  Think of the good
they'll do as parts.  Every man who volunteers for this saves many more than
himself.  Some do so dearly need the repentance, as well.  Think of all the
lives that they'll save or make better!  In fact, I've already slotted all
thirteen of his former female slaves as medical technician trainees, should they
accept the training program.  They should have their first certifications in,
oh, say five or so months, assuming we have easy negotiations.  We'll be sure
that each of them has a hand in the dissection of their former tormentors.  I've
advised pain medication, you know, a high spinal, but nothing more.  Not the
usual, you understand.  We normally put our unsalvageable puppies down in a much
more human manner, so don't look at me like I'm a tyrant, honey.  Anyway, that's
something I personally hope to attend.  The light in their eyes is intoxicating
when the technicians start on the skin grafts and first kidney.  Would you be
interested in attending with me, given that you have some familiarity with the
special circumstances?"

"Oh, no.  I'll have to pass on that.  Weak stomach for something like that, I'm
afraid."

"Oh, what a shame.  Perhaps I'll send you a post card and some digitals."

"Hum ..."  My ex seemed to pause, as if reconsidering.  I'd thought of her as
evil, but this was a new side that had me worried even more. Then she added,
"... OK.  You know, as for attending, maybe you can send an invitation.  You
know, the more I think about it, they were very bad, you say.  Would do them
good; you know, giving back."

"Oh, yes.  I'll just send an invitation and we'll compare notes.  I mean, you
with your new slave, and me with my newest project.  Isn't this just wonderful. 
What a wonderful new world we women are making, now that we have such a dominant
political position.  I can't imagine men ever getting to the place they once
were.  Have you heard the latest?  Repeal of the equal voting rights.  No more
property rights as well."

"Yes I have.  It's a good idea.  I'm voting for it.  The world is better off
without men starting all of those wars and beating their wives without a real
consequence.  We'll put a sudden stop to all of that as soon as we women have
the deed and car-keys, I'd say," agreed my ex-wife as she came over and grabbed
my leash.

"So, I think I might have some time to practice some of the new world order on
my ex.  What do you think about that, Joe?  Or, what is it now?  Fillina Mia
Cunt?  Miss Cunt.  Oh my, I'm just going to have to call you Fillina, or my
houseguests will think I'm obscene.  You're going to be such the good girl; I
can just tell.  Nothing like before, I can assure you."

"Well then, I can see that all is in order.  Just pay the one point five when
you check out and if you like, we can keep your new slave on display until you
are ready to leave?"  Offered Madam Bellifonte.

"Oh, in the lobby?"

"Yes, if you like.  She's so lovely.  I think that's the perfect place for her
to wait," agreed Madam Bellifonte, coming over to gather up my leash.

"Yes.  Might as well show the hussy off," my ex-wife said to me as she handed me
over.  I had an overwhelming impulse to tell her to shove it.  I mean, not long
ago, at the end of our marriage, I'd said as much many times.  Now I had to wait
at least until she got me home, so I bit my tongue and just let my red face do
the talking.

Once alone, Madam Bellifonte had a guard take my chains off.  I was taken to an
examination room, where a stern looking female doctor had me up in stirrups. 
She set up a scan, and then pierced my tiny dick from side to side with
cauterize needle.  A thimble was placed over my tiny dick, it an inch and a half
long and a good inch wide.  The end of the timble was open, allowing me to pee,
I could see.  Then a new peg was punched through a pair of openings near the
base of the thimble, from side to side.  With a spark from a contact arching
unit, the peg was sealed into place, the spark sending me a rude jolt.

Thus affixed, and with nothing but my birthday suit on, I was led through the
hotel, into the lobby, and then into a room that I recognized.  It had white
walls and a few plants hanging.  Otherwise it was like a holding cell without a
chair.  I'd seen it in the hotel lobby from the other three exterior angles,
where the walls were one-way glass.  I was the lobster on display.  And yet, I
couldn't even see who was looking at me.  There I waited, dick itching and
painful.  Hours passed, finally shuffling from one foot to the next with the
urge to pee through the new thimble pee hole.  I was guessing that the thimble
had been Florence's idea of a FemWorld parting joke; she did have a vengeful
streak about my deciding to end our marriage.

Well, I was thankful about one thing.  I wasn't a harem slave to a bunch of fag
male idiots who wore suits and towels.  I was, however, going to have to endure
one last embarrassment by being dragged home by my horrible ex-wife, where I'd
have to confront my sister and all of she and my ex's old friends.  Rehab back
to maleness was certain to be less than fun, expensive, and probably only
halfway.  I'd never nano all the way down such enormous tits.  Then I'd have to
find a job.  Christ, those new laws against ownership and rights, well, if that
was true, it'd be even harder for me to get a job and a decent place to live. 
The world was going to hell, but at least my ex had bought me and I'd soon be
free - relative as such a word can be in such a newly sexually discriminatory
society and with such huge knockers to out me as the flaming fag I was not.

Someone tapped on the glass.  Damn!  Then every ten minutes, another tap.  I
felt like a blind lobster being poked at by a bunch of people waiting in line at
the seafood diner.  I wished that she'd hurry; enough time had passed for her to
have lounged through a floor show, taken naps, had meals, and whatever the
ex-wife bitches around here did before they got around to finishing a checkout
and saving their ex-husbands from the out of control resort.  I was getting a
tad annoyed at her delay.  Clearly she knew that I would be impatient to move
this rescue along!

I was grateful, I guess, but mostly I was eager to get home and out a bit, maybe
just to a burger place for a decent lunch.  I thought that I even knew where I'd
left a few old clothes in the shed before I'd moved out of this ex's plush
house; plush or not, we'd not proven compatible due to her nagging nature.  Good
thing we were divorced; at least that tie had been broken, and she'd have no
such claims upon me out in the real world, assuming she had such designs in
mind.  Yet, her place would prove convenient for as long as it took me to find
some change in a dresser, dress-up and make my way over to my sister's for a
temporary refuge; hopefully by route of a sandwich shop.  Somehow I'd manage to
even get my sister and the maybe even the irrepressible ex to laugh all of this
off.  I mean, it was a mistake; I'd only thought myself in for a couple of weeks
of fantasy vacation - that's innocent enough, isn't it?  Damn, somebody else
rapped on the glass; from the right this time, prompting me to turn and face the
other glass.

FutureDomme  Chapter24

I'd passed out on the floor by the time they came to get me.  One guard reached
in with a hand to stabilize my collar, while a second secured a long steel pole
to the link closest to my neck, and then guided me out with a good six feet of
clearance like I was some sort of cobra who needed to be at arm's length.

Outside, a small crowd quickly gathered to witness the removal, telling me that
the odd security was mostly part of a show, just as had been the one way glass. 
After all, as a maid I'd actually walked around the fringe of this very same
lobby a few times, the last few unescorted.  I was forced onto my knees, and
then sort of shoved by the pole into a wooden box with holes in it.  The thing
was two feet wide, a tad taller and maybe four long, not unlike the concrete
dimension within which those Adids now awaited certain execution.

My box, being wooden, had one inch scale drilled holes and a few spaces between
the slats.  Someone reached into a single hand sized hole near my head and
removed the pole's clasp.  The pole moved backwards out and I felt the box go
dark as the back lid was nailed into place.  Everybody in the gathering crowd
clapped, as if witnessing some sort of animal capture, which considering my
passivity, was just plain stupid.

Up front, a bottle of water and a half loaf of French bread were dropped through
the hand sized hole.  Then that hole was sealed unceremoniously with a small
slat of thin cardboard that someone stapled into place with a staple gun.  The
place got darker still.  In a minute I was all packed up, I realized, ready for
shipment.  The crowd outside in the hotel lobby clapped again, admiring the
show.  A fork lift lifted the box, and I was off down some corridors and soon
into the back of a small truck.

I could see through several of the slats fairly well, but inside the truck, all
I gathered were a few slat shaped glimpses of other bodies in similar animal
poses in identical shipping containers.  Apparently I was the last, because with
only a couple minutes delay, the truck took off, soon on a freeway.  "Damn,
FedExed," I mused.  I wondered if this mode of transport was also my ex's idea
of a joke, or if they just shipped everybody out of here like freight?  She
should have told them that this wasn't necessary.  It was apt to be costing her
a good couple hundred to ship my weight, meager as it was, more than a bus
ticket or a ride in the side seat of her car.  Maybe she flew, I was guessing,
but still, a ticket on an airplane was about the same as this.  I wished that my
tiny dick was free so that I could masturbate; me oddly in a better than normal
mood, now that an end was within sight.

I was guessing that Florence was just getting in her last laugh after having
been made to fork over one point five million for my stupid ass; that added to
her insistence that it had been my fault that the marriage had broken up, in
spite of the fact that her nagging and mean streaks were the real culprit.  I'd
been so insistent.  She'd been so adamant and never ceased to comment about my
shortcomings to my sister and our mutual friends, mostly lies.  That was another
thing I hated about her; she lied at the drop of a hat for only small benefit. 
That woman I now had to at least bear for few more days; ugh!

The truck ride went on forever, and that urge to pee had only gotten to the
point of making my sides ache, so, right off on the trip I just had to let it
go, hoping to aim it through a bottom slat and thankful that the box was up on
two by fours to accommodate the fork lift tines and so that the pee would ooze
away onto the straw coated truck bed.  The thimble sent my piss in ten
directions, wetting more than I'd hoped.  There was another hand sized hole down
there, right where it did me some good a few times on the trip.

I had to force myself to only do half the water, deciding to wait awhile before
eating the bread.  I was famished, but I didn't want to dry myself out.

"What's your name?"  Came a voice from my left.  I looked through the slats,
seeing a slice of an eyeball in the adjacent freight box.

"Joe."

"No.  I mean, at the place.  What might I know you by, bud?"

"Um.  Well, I had a lot of names.  Had me as a test animal once; just a number. 
Very embarrassing and dangerous; liked to have killed the lot of us.  Like to
have killed me mostly.  Then it was 199.  Then it was Cunt 199, and Fillina Mia
Cunt was what they settled on when they thought they'd made me their bitch just
because they'd tricked me into being nanoed in a way I hadn't ordered up.  They
just kept doing what they could to make it sound worse and worse, I think. 
Joe's the real name.  Yours?"

"What's that name?" Came a voice across on the other side of the truck bed.  I
was guessing that there were maybe eight of us in the noisy cargo hold.

The guy next to me answered for me, saying, "Joe, he says.  Cunt 199, and
Fillina.  Ain't that messed up.  My names Jackson.  They call me Slave 576. 
Liked to work me to death.  Chained all but ten hours a day on an assembly line,
and the rest of the time they marched us around and stacked us in housing that
was five layers deep and no more than a board for a bed, not much bigger than
this box, though you could stretch out."

"Not good.  After being in the labs, I'd have died on one of those worker
unfriendly lines, as weak as they'd made me.  I know that much.  Could have done
it before that though.  I must have lost a hundred pounds of muscle; they really
nanoed me good."

Across the way, the voice interrupted again, "I'm 334.  Hey man, I'm sorry for
all the bull-shit I put you through.  That chain thing like to kill me though,
after they pickled us all for picking on you.  You should have tried that one if
you think Madam Cloe was bad."

"I did.  She had me in there as a head with you for awhile.  You must have
looked at me fifty thousand times, but you were so out of it you can't remember. 
Said she wanted to test it out on a volunteer when she took us all on a sadism
tour and then she said that she'd forgotten I was in there."

"No shit.  Heard about that place.  Bitch.  You guys are survivors of hell
itself, is all I can say.  Christ, now look at us; they say they send us
straight there if we fuck this gig up too.  They done sold us to the high
bidder; you two after making your voices sound like the boys named Sue.  Where
do you recon they're sending us?  They sold me and the guy on the end with a
batch of five more to some dry cleaning company.  Hell, I don't know, but maybe
being made their bitches isn't as bad as being put to hard labor forever.  Is
that right or is that wrong?  Hell, it don't seem like being a man is much of a
favor anymore." Asked the man beside me.

I answered, "Wrong just doesn't seem to compute, I guess.  As for where; I
figure the Midwest.  I'm from Ohio.  My ex bought me.  So, seeing that we're all
on the same truck, we're probably all destined for at least somewhere around
Ohio."

"No kidding.  Shit, I'm from Arizona.  How am I ever going to hitch that far?"
Said 334.

"You're not.  Haven't you heard?  The laws have been changed.  Once you make the
mistake of signing on as a slave, the rights resort back to the original
contractor.  The law can pick you up, if a bounty hunter doesn't beat them to
it.  Not for everyone, but for those who invoke the Kavorkian contract and the,
so called, "Right to Revoke Exclusion."  Exclusion is part of the equal right's
code.  Equal sexual rights was argued in the Supreme Court, and they can say
that you wanted to be a slave and wanted to be forced and that, that's your
right to be put into your natural sexuality of having someone make you do what
you say you don't want done.  It's your sexual orientation, just like
heterosexuality and gay rights, they say.  They got us all on that in
orientation too."

"Being forced isn't a sexual preference," said 334.

"Sure it is.  That's what the new ruling says.  And the Kavorkian thing means
that they can even take you for parts if you complain too much about being
forced.  Means you want to move on to the next part of your sexual orientation
since you're tired of the preliminary and wimpy slave part.  Not only that, but
since you get to be forced and tortured and all, that means that if your new
owners leave you to your own devices, FemWorld can reclaim you; in fact, has a
legal responsibility as the original contractor for the service if the new
owners don't act responsibly and make your life bad enough.  Anyway, good for
you, 199.  At least you get to go right home," said a guy done on the cab end.

"Says you.  I don't see the law acting in collusion with those dykes.  They do
that lots, sure, but it's collusion, not the law, I say," said an increasingly
vocal 334, drowning out my thanks.

I wanted to agree with him, so with words of mostly hope I added, "Yeah, right. 
I'll probably be on the streets this time tomorrow.  I don't suppose my
apartment is there anymore though, and they've probably put my stuff out on the
streets by now.  I'll have to play hubby to my ex for a day or two, I guess, or
until I'm annoyed and decide to sleep in the park instead."

"Wha da hell you talkin bout down there, you dumb stupid dogs.  We's all slaves. 
Don you git it?  We's all been solds like yesteryears gone by.  Maybe you ex
wife lets you go, maybe she don.  Probably she don, give she payin right good
money for you dumb ass, long as she can keep you ass slavin fer her.  Specially
sissy slaves likes you; brings good money nough to makes ten of us mens rich as
oil magnets.  Sides, if she lets you go, they comes for you, don't you hear the
man," said a voice a few boxes down.

Nobody spoke for awhile, me in particular mulling that over.  I mean, I'd
thought of it, but then again I'd convinced myself that I'd been fooling myself
into believing in this slave business as extended into the real world.  Even
being shipped like freight was sort of a spidery extension of the surreal
FemWorld - not home.  That just didn't seem likely to me, though I knew a lot of
folks played at it a lot and some women had indentured men, and even some
companies did keep people kind of tidy and all, and mostly that, that Supreme
Court case had been slated to be argued just before I'd made my mistaken and
signed on for a short vacation.  Hush, hush, you know; or maybe it was just the
general complacency we media consumers had regarding anything more complicated
than a 15 second sound-bite.

It didn't seem likely that it had all gotten so out into the open though in but
one year's time and that now they had all of those rules for household
submissives (which, incidentally, sounded more like rules for female dominants
who played at it).  Instead of thinking, which wasn't a thing that we bimbo
maids were supposed to do a lot of and so thinking had grown to make me feel
uncomfortable when I did it, I ate a few bites of my bread.

The whole trip ended up like that.  Some comments, mostly speculation.  Then
we'd stop and a box would offload, the human waste under it washed away with an
ever handy hose.  At one stop, two went, including 334, and then, finally, after
what felt like a full day of shipping, I was forklifted off and after a hosing,
left to drip in a warehouse overnight.  Two other of my freight box allies spent
the night with me in that cool warehouse, only a female night watchwoman passing
us by every so often, tapping her nightstick on our cages, but otherwise
choosing to keep her silent rounds.

At dawn the labor crews arrived, mostly men, and not a word of submissiveness
among them.  Bottles of water were dropped into the holes.  While we were a
curiosity to one or two, nothing much was made of it beyond recognizing our
crates and then forklifting us onto a small pickup for final delivery.  Someone
shook a tarp over us, saying, "If they lose a slat and are buck naked outside in
residential, we'll be docked a fine."

Then, an hour after uploading, the truck stopped and crowbars were at our
crates, letting us free one at a time.  I found my legs out of the pickup bed
gingerly as the cuffs were removed by the delivery guy, and tossed into a mail
sack.  The delivery man was all professional, probably not wanting to risk his
excellent male approved labor job.  Still, he couldn't resist staring at my tits
even as he handed me and the other two FemWorld graduates a light brown and blue
skirt and t-shirt that said, "Courtesy of FedEx" on it.  Apparently they wanted
their delivered products clothed, and had, had no real desire to cloth the
baggage while it was still in process of soiling.  I put the clothing on, unlike
the rest, only me thinking a skirt back to normal.  The shirt was belly button
short, with no form to it; a draft rising up from where my tits made an open
tent of it.  When my eyes adjusted, I found myself and two thin, but mostly male
co-graduates of FemWorld in my very own delivery driveway.

Or, at least it once had been my driveway, sort-of.  I say, sort-of, because
when I'd been married to Florence I'd had to sign a pre-nuptial that made it
clear enough whose property it was to remain should we divorce, an increasingly
common document that had become standard marriage contract law.  I'd basically
left after three years of marriage with my shirt on my back and a suitcase.  So,
here I was, back, with a shirt on my back and a short skirt of sackcloth that
reminded me of a Roman slave wrap - not all that different, and at least a start
of a recovery.  Give me long enough to fill a small suitcase, and I'll be gone,
I promised myself.  Still, my heart was, in fact, leaping at finally being out
of my dog cage like box, and on my way to a good breakfast and bed.

"Don't worry.  This is my ex's house," I told my two companions.

"Really.  Can you put in a word for us.  Maybe things are looking up," one said
excitedly.

I gave the men a thumbs up.  "She's a bitch, but she and my sister are tight,
and my sister arranged that she buy me out of my bondage.  I'll see what I can
do for you guys too.  My sis has lots of female friends in need of a good
husband.  Might be the way for us to go, in the end.  Don't worry; I'll do what
I can for you guys, but even if the bitch decides to keep you as slaves, I can
come visit and make sure you're being treated better than us workaday guys."

They looked at me funny when I said, "guys?", but at the time I was in that
memory lane about being offered that date by my sis a year earlier when I still
had a fair amount of machismo.  I simply had a momentary remission about my huge
tits, full pink lips and smooth ass.  I went on, "Lay low a bit, and just hunker
into something, even if the woman isn't your cup of tea, you know.  Marry one of
these ladies and when you're on your feet, take off for wherever you might want
to land, I'm thinking."  I was full of advice, all of a sudden, feeling in
familiar lands.

The delivery man seemed disinterested in our musings, and thus bid us to cut the
crap and follow him to the door listed on his manifest, which I knew to be the
kitchen pantry entrance.  There he knocked.  I supposed that running was an
option, now that we had no shackles, a scrap of clothing and nothing but a FedEx
man as escort, but the huge mansion really didn't seem all that threatening with
its gardens and large walks and circular driveway and perfectly manicured lawn. 
Even the fruit trees were ripe, well on down past the small, pond braced barn. 
There were stables beyond that kept a couple of riding horses.  The back of the
lot ended in rented wheat fields and a forest.  To the sides and across the
streets was a lane full of similarly rich estates.  Where might we be better to
run to than this?  Even the smell was excellent.

The old cook, Doris Mays, answered.  She took one look at us all and gave her
usual, 'not in my kitchen,' scowl before signing for us and ushering us all into
the big pantry room.

"Keep your eyes off of me face, lads.  I've been sent to seminars along with the
rest of the staff and know how to work with you enough to be sure ta make things
clear enough right out of the box.  The Mistress has made it clear enough that
you're not to be coddled.  You're to be thought of as slaves, right off, and
that means to keep your eyes to yerselves.  Am I speakin to you plainly?"

"Yes ma'am," we all said in perfectly conditioned unison.  I had my eyes on her
feet without as much as a thought about it.

But, I knew the lady, so I figured that two could play at establishing some
ground rules.  After all, not more than a few years back I'd been the one to
tell her what to do in my own house.  I said, "I'm Joe Anderson, Dorie; you
know, Florence's ex.  We've been through quite a bit over the past few days and
I was wondering if we could just get some rest and get right to finding our
rooms and get settled in.  Where's Florence, anyway.  I need to thank her for
getting me home so fast.  If she's not home, can I use the kitchen phone to call
my sister?  She must be frantic with worry that we made it home alright.  I want
her to come right over and have a talk with me about our plans from here on
out."

Somehow I'd managed to say all of that and still not bring myself to raise my
eyes up past her big-momma blouse.  Conditioning, I guess.

"Excuse me a minute, boys," said Doris, promptly disappearing into the kitchen. 
She returned in half a second, a wand in hand.  Reaching out with it, she
touched my stomach and pulled the trigger.  I fell in shock (both kinds).  Then
she touched my legs while they were still twitching and let me have it a couple
more times.  I saw stars.  Dorie leaned over me in my haze, raising my fears
that she'd hit me a couple more times and my heart would stop from it.  When I
came out of the lingering fog, both of the men above me had dropped their
Romanish skirts and had donned chastity tubes with connected ball rings.

I looked down, feeling a pain in my tiny, thimble covered cock.  When I reached
for my metal dick, I felt a ring of plastic just behind it that had been snapped
into place while I was on my ass.  I looked down, seeing it flesh colored, and
hard to find due to how my thimble pressed it into my crotch, and how the patch
of pussy hair hid most of the thimble and new ring anyway.

When I tried to find my feet, chains rattled, my legs also in braces, unlike the
other two men who stood bracing me, motionless, and staring at the floor as if
having learned all the lessons they needed to know for the day.

Doris came back in, she taking off some thin rubber gloves.  "Learned to set on
some restraints too, while on seminars.  Might learn you all to mind your
manners.  Now, let's try one of these out on ya.  Slave one, setting one of
five.  How's this do you?"

The man to my left shoved his hands into his crotch and moaned just as the hair
on his legs stuck out like a porcupine.  Doris went to Slave two, and then
finally to me, where I learned that, that piece of plastic behind my thimble
wasn't just a solid piece of plastic with a magnetic internal lock, but an
active piece of electronics that I felt more in my gut than anywhere else when
the metal contacts close to my skin bit me.

"I hears that setting five can fry some eggs, if'n you want to try that out
someday around here - me being the household cook and all.  Otherwise, I figure
you all just do as you're told and we'll stick to frying the kind of eggs that's
comes out of a chicken's ass," explained Doris.  We all nodded, me mostly, as I
found my place between the other two slaves and resumed my view of Doris's feet. 
Doris didn't like dicks too much, so she had us raise our skirts.

"Now, let's start over.  I ain't running your hides around here, mostly, and I
done fixed you up with your control equipment because your new boss is slow
getting her royal behind down here to help me out with the delivery, but I does
expect some courtesy around here too.  Says in the book that we can't have the
slaves behavin' likes they owns the place, so I is telling you my name is Mz.
Mays and, just like everybody else who you sees, you does whats I says, cause I
is your Goddess.  When you talks to me you says, Yesum, Mz. Mays.  I don figure
yous be saying no all that much.  Especially you, Miss ex-husband Joe.  You's
done forgotten yous name is supposed to be Miss Fillina Mia Pussy, or something
likes that now.  I never much liked you before and I ain't gonna pretend I wants
to change you back.  Fillina Pussy suits me find, but I just gonna call you Mia,
cause I ain't got  time for fancy names.  You is all gonna call me Mz. Mays,
cause you ain't no boss to nobody you meet around these parts no more, hear! 
Now says it!"

"Yesum, Mz. Mays," we all learned.

She kept right on teaching us too.  Then she went to the fine art of standing in
corners, looking at feet, and mostly not saying a thing or even breathing too
loudly - the review much too familiar for comfort.  After twenty minutes of
holding stacks of plates, we all had the our fill of pissing off my old cook. 
Shoot, last time I'd seen her I'd been merciless making her cook whatever suited
me.  She had half my education, and was ten years my junior.  And yet, this!

Mz. Mays stressed that I was doing the servicing now, telling me in particular
how much everyone had been warned to make sure I, in particular, didn't get any
uppity ideas that I was to be some kind of ex-husband instead of my new sexual
orientation as a pure and simple slut slave.  She had us in that utility room
for half an hour before she let us into the back room shower and had us all get
rid of our smell.  I was the last one into the shower too, and while in there I
could hear others entering the kitchen where Mz. Mays and the two freshly
showered slaves waited for me to finish.  The soap burned the new holes in the
base of my cocklet, but it wasn't bad, that new cauterizing piercing process
merciful.

Maybe my timing had been off.  After all, the cook would have been told of my
arrival and she'd have been trained some in how to handle the new servants, I
figured.  She wasn't going to make judgments, nor would she be speaking in
behalf of my sister, and of course she had a loyalty to my ex, which meant that
she had an issue with me, since I'd divorced the lot of them, in a way of
thinking, when I'd moved out.  I'd just bit too soon and on the wrong person.

I'd have to wait until I got some time alone with either Florence or my sister
to get the real scoop, I imagined as I finished.  I actually hated turning off
the warm water and soap, but knew that Mz. Mays still had that shock control for
my dastardly new chastity thimble.  The shock tube only made the thimble
tighter, even more severely disallowing movement that could substitute for
masturbation, so I had two reasons to hate it.

Anyway, Mz. Mays had said two minutes, and besides, I needed to go see if it was
Florence out there chatting in the kitchen, so I was eager to get on with the
soap opera that was certain to be the preliminaries to what I figured had to be
the only realistic resolution to this, regardless: Freedom.  Florence would want
to scare the hell out of me and tell me that I was a slave, just like the two
other unfortunate guys whom I was guessing might well end up being just that. 
I'd have to eat some crow, for sure, timing being everything, particularly in
front of our household servants.  Then, as time went on, I'd wear her away with
my newfound gift for patience and charm.

I stepped out of the shower, toweled off and after donning my sackcloth
clothing, found my way into the kitchen with my head properly poised in the
search for identifying feet.

FutureDomme  Chapter25

The two male slaves were gone.  Only Mz. Mays and the feet of my ex-wife,
Florence in purview.  "Excuse us a minute, Doris," sent Mz. Mays on her way. 
Just like that, the ex-wife and I were alone.  Florence was wearing one of those
stale grey business suits, the skirt kind that hid all of the knee and ended in
chunky black shoes.  The shoes reminded me of Catholic school, but it matched
the hair, up in a bun above Florence's barely pretty face that had only been
embellished with one layer of lavender lipstick.  Half of her mouth was smiling
- the other firm.  It struck me that I'd always been more handsome than her, but
now I was ten times as pretty and twenty times as sexy.  My natural double D's
held my FedEx shirt out so that the shirt positively dangled.  Even the new
nanos had even aged me backwards to what looked like ten years her junior; all
quite a switch, but we were the same inside - mostly.  If I was a man, I'd be
looking for any way possible to fuck me.  Damn, did I just think that?

Florence turned directly to me, stabbing me with eyes that spelled her newfound
fated gift of authority; that being all that she saw of it.

Even before she spoke, I was infinitely reminded of how we'd left one another in
a long stream of arguments that had me storming out with determined comments
about how I could do far better on my own than with an ugly windbag who only
thought of a husband as a status symbol reaffirming a femininity that I'd long
failed to recognize in her; cutting words indeed.

"So, in spite of all of the anticipation and preparation that you have caused me
to go through, this is still quite the unexpected feeling that I have at this
moment, Joe.  Very unexpected and much more pleasant than I'd feared it might
be, I'd say.  I wasn't too sure about that up until this very moment."  She
paused, me still hoping her openness not a ruse.  She paced around my body, even
lifting my shirt at one point, admiring a nipple before dropping the cloth.  She
added, "The little FedEx wrap is actually quite cute as well.  Oh, please.  Feel
free to talk; I feel like I'm talking to myself, and we do have some catching
up, don't you think?"

I sighed, glad that I could get to the task of talking my way clear of all of
this so soon.  The shocking collar on my balls was still freshly annoying, and
I'd not yet felt out the territory well enough to be too brazen without the
invitation; I knew that Florence wouldn't last long without wanting to get into
a yam session with me, and once we both were able to hash out the past, I'd
cower enough to have her around my thumb.

"Florence, this was all a huge mistake.  You know, to be perfectly honest about
it, I did sign on to that crazy FemWorld on my own, but I had the impression
that it was a two week vacation; some fun, little playing around the pool,
nothing like it ended up being was even remotely in their advertising!  You
know, actually, I'd consider it nothing less than an abduction.  I know what
you're thinking.  I seemed too complacent through all that you saw of me there,
but that was due to all of the threats and acts of violence that I've been
through.  You have no idea how they play you.  First they make you sign things
you didn't intend, and then they ... well, let's just cut to the chase here: My
first assignment was strapped to a table for six months as a lab rat.  A
laboratory rat!  Some of those guys didn't make it after those experiments, I've
been told.  That place is right out of Poe, it is.  It ain't me to go making a
fuss, but someone is going to end up challenging them and the Feds are apt to
shut them down when they hear the half of it.  Then they have this place like a
dungeon that they chain guys up for months in.  I don't think that a lot of
those guys made it either.  They even made me look like a woman without my
consent; you know that I wasn't anything like this much into female domination. 
Oh yeah, we did a little slap, rope stuff, the odd pair of panties, but nothing
fancy, you know.  They took all of my things.  My job is gone, I'm thinking ..."

Florence casually nudged in the words, "My goodness.  Did they say it was only
for two weeks when you signed?"

I got physical, opening my arms in a gesture, looking at her face some, going on
with,"... and then they ... oh, well, I'm not sure.  I think I had the
impression though that things would only be a few days, and that's like a verbal
contract, or what do you call it, fraudulent something or other.  I, for sure,
never asked for a long term deal, and I didn't even pay them for the two week
free trial vacation deal either, so you know it was a short term thing that was
implied."

"Well, where do you imagine that, that leaves me, Joe?  Have I paid the crook
for something she didn't own?  I have invested one and a half million dollars in
a worthless ex-husband who left me in tears.  Do you have any idea what I had to
make up to save face when you left me?  I couldn't think of a thing, so I called
you a philanderer and gay, just to keep people from thinking bad things about me
as a wife.  Mostly the gay part worked with most of my friends, but I don't
think your sister ever believed me on either score.  One thing she knew was that
you was straight at an arrow when it came to fucking around.  What was I to say
though, that you just thought ME a mistake?  Well, so I'm still wondering why I
went and spent so much for you, and another half million for a couple of new
yard slaves to keep you company and to make franchising into the whole area of
keeping slaves worth my time.  Are you saying that after all of that heartbreak
and then after all of my intentions to bring you back to my house that I've been
taken?"

"Really, it's not about you.  I do appreciate you coming to get me.  I really
do.  I'll pay you back; I promise.  It's not you; it's that FemWorld.  I'll need
a job, and then I'll have to get myself back to normal, and maybe you can ask
around, if you like; maybe with one of your businesses.  I know that you don't
like mixing your old family businesses with your family, but I could really use
the hand-up, if no more than to pay you back.  I'd really appreciate that too. 
I appreciate everything that you and my sister have done for me.  You know, this
has been hardest on me.  I'm sure that if we sued them that they'd at least
settle for the money you spent, but I'd still pay you interest.  I'm sure that
the last thing they want is too much publicity about what really goes on, as
opposed to what they advertise.  I certainly had no clue, myself."

"What kind of job can a man get that pays him enough to pay off one and a half
million dollars?  How would I explain to my associates that the old paternal
system is back; here's my ex.  Give him a good woman's executive job!"  She
laughed, it clearly absurd to her.  It seemed a legitimate question, but it also
told me that she wasn't in the mood to sue FemWorld and was going to push the
whole deal right onto my back.

"OK, well, I can get my own job then.  I could even pass as a woman long enough
to get my foot into a decent paying job; guys only get minimum wage jobs
anymore; it's tough.  I'll stick to my female disguise then, for now, just to
prove to you how committed I am to paying you back, I can assure you.  I'll even
stay here, well out of underfoot, so you can keep tabs on me and collect regular
like."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that.  And, of course, I do see that you are sincere. 
But, I have good news.  You are troubled for no reason at all.  You see, you
already have a job.  You can work for me, right here.  What do you say?"

"Oh.  Hey, that's a good idea, Florence.  I'll just take one of the nanny houses
out back and you tell me when to start.  Lots of yard work, courier runs,
patching up the fencing and estate; whatever you need done.  Just have Doris
keep a list.  If you pay me by the job, I'll prove my worth better than minimum
wages.  You know I'll do you a good job too.  I promise.  Hell, the job I had
before this was a load of crap anyway."

"No, dear.  I think you are a little bit confused.  You see, you're a twig.  All
of that is man's work.  I bought the other two slaves to do most of that.  What
I need from you is a good and steady maid.  I spent a considerable amount for
just that service, and I ask, what is the point of hiring such a well trained
rarity as yourself if I can't also show off the novelty?  Half of your worth is
seeing the faces of the girls when we have bridge or parties.  Absolutely nobody
has a maid anywhere near as feminine as you've become, which is why you went for
so much money."

I was stunned.  I shared almost all of her friends.  It seemed impossible to
bear up being a novelty, particularly if Florence blabbed my former self to
everyone I knew.

"So, here's what we're going to do.  You get to pay me back by working here as
the household maid.  In fact, in case you've not noticed, Becka has quit, and so
we have a vacancy and Stella Barns can be the head maid; your immediate
supervisor.  As for paying me back, I'm not only giving you room and board, but
if I were to assume you worth minimum wage for the assumed 40 hours, which
should have your bill all paid off in, oh, say, eighty years or so.  With nanos,
we might make it to eighty more years even.  Of course 40 hours is only for the
books.  I would expect such a maid to be on call 16 hours a day, seven, and then
there's the payback costs for room and board and clothing and training, which
includes my staff's training, good for another forty years of labor or so, you
see."

"But, maybe I can do better on the outside for you, honey.  YOu know, part-time,
on the side," I tried, not stopping her comments one bit, as she went on:

"Not that it will make one bit of difference, since I'm docking you your full
pay for my trouble at having me and my staff have to go through slave owner and
supervision classes, and all of that bidding; not to mention the fact that you
are a slave.  I should be charging you to work here; but it would be a waste to
time on a legally enforced indigent such as yourself."

I didn't like her rising tone one bit.

"You see, dear, handling money, as a slave, is a serious offense, punishable by
nothing less than a six month visit to FemWorld's prison for wayward heads.  I'd
do you a disfavor by paying you, or even allowing you to take a job.  Slaves
simply are no longer allowed to either handle capital assets such as money, nor
are they allowed to accumulate wealth, save what they make for their Mistress,
which would be my contract anyway.  In fact, I am as bound by your original
contract with FemWorld as they were.  Both FemWorld and I are consigned by law
to deliver on your contract, word for word.  So, you see, there isn't really all
that much leeway here.  I'd say, none at all.  No, no, not much leeway at all,
you see.  The brutal fact is, even if I were to pay you minimum wage, I'd be
bound by law to confiscate it from you and see that you are contractually
punished for the offense of having earned it.  There simply is no way that a
slave can buy his way out of bondage that way, which I find delightful.  You
should at least be happy to know that none of your offspring are consigned to
repay any of your debts of permanent and irrevocable slavery, not that such a
thing is possible, is it, dear.  I suppose that you'll just have to get used to
being what you are."

"I ..." I managed to grunt, hoping that my ears had been hearing things.

"Yes, we can say it together.  I ...."

"What.  Hey, it's a mistake.  That's what they do.  They make a man sign things. 
It's fraud, I tell you, honey.  Dear.  Please!"

Too late, I noticed the button in her hand.  She delivered a short, but
effective zap to my tiny dick!"

She leaned over me, where I'd fallen to my knees.  "Come on.  I ..."

Sob! "I"

"... am a ..."

"... am a ..."

"... sissy ..."

"... sissy ..."

"... maid ..."

"... maid ..."

"... slave ..."

"... slave ..."

"... who is owned, body and soul ..."

"Please.  Can't you understand!"

"ZZZZZZZZZZZAAaaaaaaaaap!"

"Say it!"

"... who is owned, body and soul ..."

" ... by my vindictive ex-wife!"

"... by my vindictive ex-wife!"

"Very good, slave.  Now, just one more line.  Repeat:  I am going to be
tormented and worked until the day I die!"

"No.  Please!"

"ZZZZZZZZZZZAAaaaaaaaaap!"

"I am, go on!"

"I am going to be tormented and worked until, until ..."

"Until the day you die!"

"Until the day I die!"

"A penniless and nameless,"

"A penniless and nameless,"

"pile of ashes in the pauper's crematorium."

"pile of ashes in the pauper's crematorium."

"There we go.  Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?  Isn't it good to have the job
interview made so perfectly clear from the very first day.  Let me refresh.  You
are a complete and utter slave for the rest of your natural born life.  It's
illegal for you to own anything at all, and as soon as you earn anything, it
becomes mine, so you can't actually pay anything off, now, can you.  Your
contract binds me to FemWorld, and FemWorld binds me to it, so that I have had
to be trained, along with my staff, and thus, we all are committed to making
your pussy of a life into what we free women might freely call, one little
living slavish hell.  Isn't that lovely.  Now, in the spirit of the little lie
that I had to make up in order to save face, I want to also go over one other
small detail.  So, repeat after me, dear:  I am gay cocksucking sissy female
wannabee.  I just love the taste of a big man's cock as it slides all the way
down my throat.  Oh, and let's try to get this done without the zapper, because
my patience with your insubordination and lip is about gone!"

"I am gay, sissy female wannabee and I love the taste of a big man's cock as it
slides down my throat, Mistress."

"Oh, please, Joe.  You forgot, cocksucker.  We must have aspirations, even if we
are slaves."

She waited, me finally saying, "Cocksucker," in a defeated breath.

"Very good.  The point is, my reputation is at stake, so we must be clear that
if anybody, and I mean ANYBODY, including your sister, asks you, you are to make
it abundantly clear that you are a flaming fag to the core.  As for Mistress,
that isn't necessary.  After all, a Mistress might be a paid whore to some. 
Call me Madam, or, if you must, Madam Anderson.  Oh, I'd love it if you'd pepper
in a Miss Anderson on occasion, but only when we're alone.  Miss!  Yes!  Once it
was Mrs., but that was when you had the run of the place as a man, wasn't it. 
All over now.  Otherwise, I do think that Madam Anderson is perfect.  Give it a
whirl!"

"Yes, Madam Anderson."

She patted me on the head like a puppy.  "Oh, isn't that delightful.  You see,
as my very last ex-husband, the one I just couldn't get over, I kept your name. 
Something, I'm afraid, that no longer is your own luxury, now is it, Filina ...
Mia ... Cunt?"

"Sorry, Madam Anderson."

"And, given that you look so very NOT like him, I find all of this both so
exquisitely pleasing, and easy.  I'm beginning to understand why the one point
five million was a bargain.  Now, take off the FedEx thing and put it into the
trash.  then report to Ms. Barns for your maid room on the third floor and a
couple of uniforms; you'll not need anything else other than what odds and ends
she sees fit; slaves have so few wants.  You'll find her in laundry right now. 
The chain of command is simple.  Ms. Barns, followed by Mz. Mays, and then me. 
If you bother to speak to me without their approval, you'll be sent back for six
months as a head; it's only a five thousand dollar charge, and the discipline
will be well worth it to me.  Further, when working with the other slaves,
you'll do as they tell you, given that you're such a fairy and all.  I want it
to clearly be understood that you are the least favored of my servants.  Is that
clear, Mia?"

"Yes, Madam Anderson."

"Oh, and one more thing, Mia.  I'm going to set up an incentive plan for the
male slaves, who, of course, will get one of those nanny houses you so admire. 
If they're very good, they get to fuck you for a couple of hours, once every
couple of weeks, assuming neither is attending to my needs.  That will mean one
per week, given that there are two of them, and I expect little trouble from
them; we're so much nicer for real men to work for than FemWorld, I'm told.  As
for you, I think it's safe to say that your fucking days are long over.  I
certainly have no use for your penny in bed, short of maybe a pussy whipping and
face sitting or such.  As a man, that is, you know, you are soooooo over!  I
suppose that we may let you play with the little button at the end of monthly
bridge if you do well at maiding over the course.  Otherwise, I'll be giving the
males instructions on how to keep you milked properly on a weekly basis as part
of their responsibility of keeping your prostate drained while fucking you;
which means that you won't have to spend all of your time with them sucking cock
after all.  I see that you have three holes now, so your gay days are just
expanding, don't you think?  Probably best if you just thought of yourself as a
girl; that way it won't seem so gay, now will it."

"Yes, Madam Anderson."

"Oh, come on.  We're alone.  Miss."

"Yes, Miss Anderson."

"I'm tired of talking to you.  If you have anything else that you need to know
from now on, bring it up with Ms. Barns.  Otherwise, consider us formal.  One
thing that they taught us at FemWorld is the need for layers of authority; so
that we are not tempted with any illegal fraternizations.  Consider any
formalities with myself or my staff worth serious punishment for you, Mia.  Now,
run along, girl."

"Yes, Madam," I said, turning.  Her hand slapped my ass briskly.

"The curtsy?"

I turned, and faked a skirt-less curtsy to FemWorld standards of perfection. 
Then I whirled, retreating into the huge old mansion on trembling legs of
slavish dread.

FutureDomme  Chapter26  Epilogue:

"I can't get over your new maid, Florence.  She's so efficient.  Are you sure
that you can't loan her to me?"  Asked my sister.  I was attending in short
black formal with ruffled trim and apron, bob hat, net nylons, heels that had my
back aching and little ringlets of lace as silly wrist cuff decor.  I hated the
outfit, much preferring my plain, knee covering daily grey dresses with large
square, pocket aprons.

"Not for a minute.  She's attached to my household for life, honey.  You know
that you'd end up spoiling her.  She is, after all, well, you know, best off if
not discovered by the six month inspection to be in need of refresher.  There
are rules that even I must abide.  We have to abide by his contracted wishes, or
the exchange would simply be unfair to him ... her, when she was, well, him, and
signed on to his fate.  I am bound by contract, you know, and have gone to the
trouble to being trained.  At least you know that now she's safe."

"Yes.  I am thankful that you managed to rescue him from FemWorld, and I suppose
that you should have my thanks for accepting him as ... well ... she is.  It's
clear that, ahum ... she just can't go back to being, you know, a man."

"Would be illegal, dear."

"Yes.  True.  It's probably the best lot she could have, considering what those
nanos made of her.  It's really remarkable, just looking and thinking of her as
my brother."

"Well, she's not really your brother, in a way of thinking, unless you imagine
yourself a slave family, though for you it'd just be funsies."

"Think I'll pass," said my sister, rolling her eyes.

"Are you girls going to pass or play," insisted Jessica, an impatient woman who
had her own slaves, and found all of this insistent fuss over just one, annoying
every month that bridge was at Florences.  As if emphasizing the mundane
features of servants, Jessica added, "Girl.  Fill my brandy."  I did just that,
careful to retrieve the glass from her right, and serve it refilled to her left
before retiring just out of hand to my station by the wall.

"Oh, girl!  Do pay attention.  Get me a light," Jessica added without pause,
even before she'd liberated a cigarette from her purse.  I lit her cigarette
with the parlor lighter.

Florence went on with my sister, as if cranky Madam Jessica hadn't even spoken. 
"Besides, she gets all that she needs now; the health benefits alone are first
rate.  I bought two males just to keep her company, but I don't spoil any of
them.  They only get to bugger and get sucked once a week, and that's only if
they work hard and with good attitudes.  Personally, I think all of that gay
stuff is just a little unhealthy when taken to excess.  The best is, she gets
her gay sex, but her straight fellows don't even see it as being homosexual,
considering.  Everybody gets what they want, in respectable measure.  No, I
don't spoil them; anybody fooling around with undisciplined dicks every night is
asking too much anyway."

"Constipating at the least," chimed in Rossie, the fourth.  Rossie was subbing
for her mother; every bit of twenty-two, and every word, said as if stately, but
really totally ditzy.

Florence corrected, "Dear, she has a bit of a pussy and a tight mouth as
supplement, so it's not as anal as you might think, although Mia seems to like
the anal best; it helps flush the prostate, you see and the prostate's become
her only means of a decent cum with the thimble installed permanent.  I just
can't abide a maid in the house who might be found playing with herself, you
see."

The liar, I thought.  I am not gay, I wanted to scream, but what would it buy
me?  Hell, I was a slave and a maid and there didn't seem that making a fuss
about anything humiliating was worth two cents worth of trouble anymore as I
found myself resigned to my fate more and more each day as routine took me over.

My sister said, "I just never saw it in him.  I do want to apologize again for
not seeing what you must have been going through when you were married to him. 
No wonder he was so bashful about dating that night when he signed up for that
dreadful FemWorld.  He must have been desperate to be altered in a way more
fitting his sexual orientation.  Now look at him.  It's a sight, I admit, but a
pretty one, and if he so desperately needed to become a woman to satisfy his
needs, it's best that he end up like this and not out on the streets meeting up
with who knows what kind of diseased dick.  Keep it in the family; we all have
our closets, as long as they are locked."

"Good, Goddess, she's forgotten to bring me an ashtray," said the old crank
Jessica.  The fact that I had forgotten was a huge mistake, I realized, my
efficiency having hit a low point for sure as I sinned mightily by listening in
on the conversation about myself and had forgotten the rest of my protocol to go
along with it.  Of course, Jessica's fag wasn't all that long yet either, and I
might have noticed it in a second or two by myself, but the service had, to
Jessica at least, gone as good as completely unattended.

Florence flared, but her temper was held by the fact that she wanted my sister
to think her super benevolent; which, as they'd noticed, she was compared to
hell itself, FemWorld; even at her worst.  "Girl!  Get an ashtray!  No wait! 
Come here!  Not here.  Between Madam Sheffield and Madam Anderson.  On your
knees."

"Oh, goodness," said my sister and Rossie in oddly coincidental unison.

"Open your mouth.  Hands behind the back.  Put your head well back, Mia,"
demanded Florence.  I was red faced.  Florence looked over at my sister, who'd
put her hands over her cheeks and mouth in a hand masked surprise.  Florence
added, for my sister's sake, "Oh now, don't tell me that you've never seen this
trick before.  Lots of slaves are into humiliation.  It's in her contract, after
all, and it isn't going to kill her.  It's not like we empty the whole carton
into her.  Besides, I have to reinforce good service expectation; it's in the
contract."

"No, it's not that," said my sister.  "It's just that she reminds me of
somebody, just then, like that.  I can't place my finger on it, to tell you the
truth, but it kind of turns me on, even if I can't remember the event my mind is
all itchy to recall."

"Into your brother, are we.  Now we can all be so Doctor Phil.  This isn't a
bridge game, it is a session?"  Said Jessica as she tapped her ashes into my
open mouth.  It was often hard to tell when Jessica was having fun or being
critical of her host, but one thing for sure, it didn't seem to phase her that
I'd become her ashtray, she having tapped the ashes in as if her comments were
more the thing than the act of making me into an ashtray had been.

My sister just gave up trying to remember.  "Well, perhaps it will come to me. 
As for my brother being into humiliation, I think that, that's obvious from the
fact that he went to FemWorld to begin with.  Far be it from me to spoil that
for him.  And, you're wrong, Florence.  If he were to come over to my place to
clean, I'd not spoil him; the place is a mess."

Florence smiled, but didn't offer.

"You should make her a smoker and then make her quit," played Rossie.

"Oh, quit.  She has enough bad habits," said Florence

"No, really.  I'd be fun.  Think of it as fulfilling a little masochism."

"Not today.  This is a good day for our sissy.  I've promised her that if she
does well today that I'll let her winkie out to play when we're on our last
sherrie," said Florence, referring to my much missed masturbation as a silly
habit.  To me it was the world - my only long last pleasure, and I had much
dreaded that my missed ashtray might make me miss it.

The young and silly Rossie chuckled and then snipped, "After sucking all of
those cocks, I don't suppose it's all that much of a job being an ashtray." 
Stupid as it was, everybody laughed.

The laughing women included the hardcore Jessica and my sister, whom I could
tell had indeed forgotten where she'd seen me last as an ashtray.  In fact, due
to my busy disposition swallowing, she got up and walked by me to get whatever
she wanted without my services.  Rossie, who didn't even smoke, borrowed
Jessica's cigarette and held it under my nose to see if I'd choke.  Between
whiffs of smoke, my sister's perfume smell did so much to remind me of older,
much less formal days between us.  Susan didn't notice as she went to the parlor
lighter to start her own cigarette all by herself.

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