There’s a new Subby-Market in town, so I went there to check it out. The two-storey store looks big and bright and I was impressed how friendly and professional the staff was. We have a large variety of slaves from all around the world, one of the young Ladies said, and there’s always something thrilling in our collection. The ground floor showcases the new products that are up for sale. All slaves are trained, tested, cleaned and certified. They’re on display in large display cases with an electronic information card and a price tag attached to it. Male slaves are ridiculously cheap of course, a luncheon in town costs more. And tastes better. On the 2nd floor (the Lease-A-Sub department) you’ll find the second-hand, often somewhat damaged, lease items. The store is open 24/7, just in case someone needs a late-night slave. Some Ladies are emotionally attached to animals, but absolutely no one has feelings for these lowlife creatures we call men. We made that mistake before, and we’re not doing it again. So a Lady can use Her purchase as a work-slave, a handyman, a doormat, a sex-toy, a whipping boy, human furniture, a servant, a pet, a medical experiment or anything else that comes to Her pretty mind. It’s a lovely store with helpful staff and a huge range of products, so I recommend them highly to everyone. Diary of Mistress Sunflower – March 2079.
All men are locked in chastity and I really do understand the reasons why. But it means, in practise, that owned slaves lead the good life. Because is he’s a good boy and if he’s very lucky, his Mistress will unlock the chastity cage from time to time and let Vesuvius erupt. But unowned slaves always get the short end of the stick, and they have to go to the Milking Farm every three months. It’s compulsory and those who refuse will be arrested, fined and castrated. In that order. Don’t get me wrong: I was all for the the Female Revolution, I even handed out flyers. I was, and still am, a firm believer, but the Milking Farm is a step too far for me.
The machine in the milking parlour can milk up to 250 slaves at the time. The smell of sperm is overwhelming and gets into your nose and clothes. But the Milkmaids also use plates, bowls and Tupperware cups to collect the sperm. Some of us are even taken outside and milked in a bucket. Not once, but twice, sometimes thrice in a row. It’s all so degrading, especially when they want us to mow like cows. The last time I was there I confronted one of the Milkmaids with this. She slapped me in the face and threatened me with the slaughterhouse. I left with the tail between my legs. Yes, these are bleak and unsettling times. Joe Mill – September 2067.
The cell is 7 feet by 13, with a barred window of thick, muffled glass at one end and a black painted door at the other. The cell is damp, unlit and cold, there’s no ventilation system, no running water and only a bucket to be used as a bathroom. There’s some straw on the floor to sleep on and a thin blanket to keep me warm. Meals are given through a trapdoor, about 8 inches square. Tea and bread in the morning, a watery soup at noun and a couple of pints of stirabout as dinner. Then there are the dreadful punishments and humiliations. They say you get used to anything in life, but I’m not there yet. Because there’s no predicting how often or how intense these beatings will be. Sometimes thrice a day, sometimes not at all, sometimes before and after a meal, sometimes in the dead of night, sometimes mild, sometimes unbearable, sometimes in my cell, sometimes in front of all the other inmates. It’s the insecurity that is so awful and gets to you. The Female Guards mock and humiliate me. They spit in my face, force me to lick their boots and order me to eat of the floor. All because I made a harmless joke about the Female Government. February 2056 – Slave 1422-927, Femdom Gaol.
This, Ladies & gentleman, is the VR Femdom Pro M-900, a Femdom Universe, set in an open-world environment. You can visit and explore over three hundred Cities, with Femdom bars, hotels, prisons, factories, dark alleys, markets and so much more. Be careful though: there’s always a risk of getting caught and enslaved for years on end! You can fight the Female Gladiators in Rome, visit the dark Castles of Transylvania, travel through the dangerous woods of Artemis or try to find the legendary Amazon Warriors. It’s more real than reality itself and it will change your life forever.
There was a low murmur in the audience.
Now, do you remember those monstrous Virtual Reality Headsets? Now we have this.
He showed us what looked like regular sunglasses with sides.
Isn’t it amazing? No need to wear a bathtub on your head anymore. But you know, the big question is of course: how real is Virtual Reality? Does it still look pixelated? The answer, Ladies & gentlemen, is standing right in front of you. Because I’m not made of flesh and blood, I’m the Virtual Reality.
He moved to the edge of the stage and we could see right through him! We all rose to our feet and gave him … it … that thing a standing ovation.
September 2048 – Virtual Reality Convention – St. Petersburg.
Let me tell you a few things about the job. FemCom is a company like any other, only very different. We work twelve hours a day, six days a week. No (bank) holidays whatsoever, because spoiling slaves is never a good thing. The employee’s hourly rate of pay is $5, but you can (and will) be fined for almost anything: for working too hard or being lazy, for coming in too early or too late, for asking or not asking. I’ve been working here for ten years, but never received a cent, let alone a dollar. Which makes sense, because you wouldn’t pay a cow to give milk or a chicken to lay an egg, would you?
FemCom is a company, not a submissive playground. Sure, the Strict Department Managers slap you silly or kick you in the groin for being stupid, but the real punishments take place after work (time is money after all). If you fool around and deliberately make mistakes, you’ll lose your job. And make no mistake: once out, always out.
We live in brutally basic barracks. But there’s a sink, a bed (of some sorts) and a toilet, what more can a slave ask for? So, are you still willing to give up your freedom and work for FemCom?
The rite to passage at the age of 18, is a transition from boy to man, from masturbation to chastity, from freedom to slavery. The ritual takes place in the month of September, at midnight, on a full moon. The youngsters are forced to crawl between two rows of Mistresses with long, leather paddles. After crawling the gauntlet they’re tied to the whipping-post. Now the real initiation begins. It starts with a soft leather paddle, followed by a 40-strand rubber flogger and then into the darkness of the night with a 4-lash leather whip, the cat-o’-nine-tails and the feared bullwhip. Some of these lads will not make a sound, others moan, groan and scream. After the whipping the chaps are forced to crawl the gauntlet again. This second run is more intens, brutal and cruel than the first one. Some 50 percent of the boys will be castrated, and the other half will spend their days in chastity. In the last stage of the ritual the newborn slaves are branded with a hot iron. It’s a painful, but necessary procedure. They’re now real slaves and ready for a life in servitude. March 2092 – Rites To Passage, Lady Jane, ISBN 923-4-11-724033-0.
As the members of the House know, it’s not allowed to debate on other questions than those appearing in the agenda. The probability or improbability of a Femdom Exit, or Fexit, is not in the agen- Order! Ordaaa! is not in the agenda, nore will it be. Mr. Duncan, be quiet! I know you feel strongly about this issue and I respect that. But I’m not having you shouting out. Get a grip on yourself man! We’re not, and I apologise to the Secretary of State for Human Pets & Cattle for my choice of words, we’re not animals. We’re all loyal subjects to Her Majesty and submissive towards all Women. Ordaaa! No, no! Order! Yes, the honourable gentleman from Northumberland is free to argue about this as much as he likes, but not in this House! Order! Ordaaaa! May I remind the honourable gentleman that the reign of Women has only just begun and they are not going to allow you, or anyone else for that matter, to withdrawal in some sort of free state. The idea is too absurd for words. Order! Ordaaaa! It will not happen, sir. Not today, not tomorrow, not at any time. No, no! Order! Mr. Duncan, whether you like it or not, Women are in charge and will be for centuries to come. You sir, are now a slave, get used to it and stop wasting everyone’s time. Ordaaaa! House of Commoners – April 2073.
When I got into the great yard I saw three Female Officer’s and about twenty male prisoners. When the triangle was brought out I began to shake from head to foot. It appeared that several had to be flogged; and to make matters worse, so far as I was concerned, a number had to undergo the punishment before me. When the first was strapped he began to shout and roar, but the lash was nevertheless administered without mercy. One after the other screamed and begged for forgiveness, but to no avail. Their backs presented the appearance of raw meat. My name was called at last, and I in turn begged to be spared, but they laughed in my face. I was strapped and the horrible beating began. The more I cried for mercy, the more severely was the lash felt. The Officer’s gave extra instructions to the flogger: Lower down, more to the right, or: try to hit that same spot again, only harder. At length I was released and marched slowly to my cell. On arriving there I fell down from exhaustion, and was scarcely be able to lie in bed for pain. Anno Domini 2154, Femdom Gaol, Chicago.