Kinky Dept

Creator of Bondage Artwork

Written by the Kinkydept
Last edited 2022/08/08
Version 1.3
1. The Early Days of
Planet XX:
Adam and his Wife

Author's note: A short intro chapter explains the odd, changing world of the colony (some of it) so you can better understand what's happening. After that, the story of Adam and his wife begins. If you're in a hurry, you can read it afterward, too. Since this is a free story, some corners were skipped in the editing cycle—I write these for fun—while my bigger kinky projects receive more attention. Notice: Contains brief scenes of castration/nullification, amputation, and scat. Don't read it if you don't like that. All characters are of legal age. For Adults only, duh!
Independent colony: B805-XX, XX System Year: 2422, ~200 years before Slave Jessica and Bree (from Slave Unit) enjoyed their naughty lives. Adam had always thought that his and his lovely wife's special relationship had been different from the start: Carol was kinky, trustworthy, and loving. It was and has been for years now, within their private home in the suburbs. He couldn't imagine living without her, or not serving her in their spicy relationship. Adam's intimate duties filled him with a higher purpose he had never felt before. It wasn't unheard of, giving over control to your wife, of becoming hers officially—just like marriage—except it was the legal bond between a dominant and her submissive. It had happened to a distant friend of Adam, a nearby neighbor (and one he hadn't judged kinky at all... as was often the case). The neighbor's wife had been the first he had known who made full use of the new property laws. She had become the sole owner of their marital belongings. To a submissive man like Adam, the gesture felt almost romantic and was accompanied by an odd sense of envy. Within Adam's home, over the years of servitude, body worship, and odd gestures of mutual affection, the peculiar bond, between him and Carol, only grew stronger over time. Just a few years back, and at the behest of his insistent wife, Adam had received many thick piercing rings. By now, he had even gotten used to most of them. Even though deeply submissive, he wasn't a big fan of having more holes in his body with which his naughty wife could play. In particular, the new tender one—going through the tip of his penis—was one he hadn't quite gotten used to. In part, because Carol wouldn't allow him to touch it; only she could touch it, she made sure. These days, the many pretty steel shackles locked to his body should've been a hint: he wasn't exactly her husband any longer, but had become her most treasured property, with which she could do whatever the hell she pleased. Even most of his—of their—possessions, he had handed over willingly to his woman in charge. They'd had their second marriage, but without much fanfare; in part, because the thought was inconceivably hot, but also because the many changing laws in the country helped protect the men from making any more mistakes at the cost of their fellow women. They had sort of married again, except between dominant and submissive. Some men still had great difficulty grasping this concept. But the 'PAM' was on course in making them understand. His wife was also a zealous member of the PAM: The Party for the Advancement of the Matriarchy—or colloquially called 'The Matriarchists'. They want equality, more law and order, and offered hope and an end to the current political chaos and corruption scandals. Particularly, the increased unrest from a majority of violent, male perpetrators played right into their hands—and polls. The etiquette has changed outside their home and within society: new laws were enacted. And what spread like a virus were rumors about a male sickness that could turn them all aggressive or dumb—or both. Yet, it was difficult to discern truth from fiction with the information warfare that was being waged. They called it all a hoax, harmless, and hysteria. Infected citizens, who showed signs (and of course, they meant exclusively males here), had to be admitted to a hospital long-term. Maybe over the last ten years (and Adam's memory grew fuzzy there), things outside had slowly turned crazier. He had no clue why protests, increased crime, and robotic police patrols happened. By now, even that was old news. It was one controversy after another outside, and the familiar fabric of society slowly changed into something bizarrely new—even within their cozy four walls. He didn't know about the pills his wife was mixing into his food. It prevented the viral aggression from fully manifesting in his brain. Adam was one of the lucky ones. With a wife who saw him fit to receive 'somewhat' of a cure—through her handy party affiliation—he could still be of use to her, later on. Carol's impatience had grown thin with the current circumstances. Since she regularly met with more like-minded acquaintances, her odd views had only changed further. And not just kinksters (wives with subjugated husbands) but elitist man-haters, straight-up misandrists, who were convinced by the changing tide. They thought only they could save the colony and the current failing system from its crime-riddled, male-led demise. Who could argue with that in today's changing times? Surely not Adam. Maybe his Carol didn't believe it all, but he couldn't quite tell any longer what was going on with his all-in-one dominant wife, custodian, and Mistress. Outside, the reforms remained insufficient and the rot festered in every dark corner of the current system. Their society was failing—that much he still recognized. According to Carol (and Adam had to listen often to her outrage), the current degenerate males, who were still in power, had opened Pandora's box with de-facto slavery. They had replaced cheap labor with the legal equivalent of slavery. It had been just a few years since that had become somewhat the new normal. It wasn't only the females who had to watch out. The economy had been booming with the influx of cheap servants. Slavery had turned as much into a tool of power and subjugation as it had become a printing press for unlimited wealth. And wealth ties into policy-making and new laws. Those freshly enriched slave owners were the rising nobility. Yet some male owners of this new slaver elite became more ruthless, paranoid, hid, or even fled the colony. Others got sick and eventually disappeared from hospitals. Some didn't take it seriously in their arrogance and called it all a stupid hoax. This change (or movement) attacked the male elite on multiple fronts, dividing them. Meanwhile, with the rising political clout, more women formed a sort of proto-Mistress class, and many free men had to watch out not to end up as another one of their pleasure slaves. What these new owners wanted was more slaves to own and more money to make, just like the rest. They had tasted the luxury of power and worship. Within their somewhat hidden realms, the Mistresses had turned from mortal women to true Queens. Outside their peculiar lives—in their neighborhoods, the cities, the entire country—they wanted the whole world thrown at their feet, and the very ground they walked on nothing less than licked by lowly slave tongues. Adam certainly wouldn't want to say no to that! She hadn't been wrong, back then, his clever wife, when debt slavery had turned into true slavery. Today, many men still loved to get their fingers on a juicy slave girl. But even that luxury slowly became more regulated and restricted, later on under PAM. You can imagine the outcries! The current party's attempt at crime reform had failed terribly (to the malicious joy of Carol, after having suffered so long as a second-class citizen). The rich only became richer; it was never enough. Suffice to say that seeing naked and enslaved women in the offices and streets only heightened Carol's (and her PAM buddy's) blood pressure unnecessarily. Whether this uncertainty and change in society had been purely catalyzed through the pandemic, or through a cultural collapse, could only be speculated. (But let's leave that to a future and underpaid historian; they'll have to make a living, after all.) The equally suffering male slaves of this new caste seemed less of an issue to them, nor was there cohesion between the goals of PAM and the ever more powerful growing female slave owner elite. To Adam's surprise though, not even the Matriarchists dared to put a slave reform in their party program. The opposite really: They only managed to disenfranchise the male slaves as well and put them on par with the female slave standards; they defined how quickly a citizen could lose his or her citizenship. Maybe PAM avoided it out of fear they'd jeopardize their chances and lose the elite's support? Not that Carol talked with him about everything, like they used to. Over many years, this party of empowered women sought change, with plenty of room to improve. A new wind had entered the world of politics and they had been right to leave the slave issue for another day. Just last year, the Matriarchists had finally won and things seemed to change for the better—they were for sure better at getting the pesky virus under control—or so it seemed. Sometimes, when Adam's mind was clearer, he wondered about ulterior motives, simply by having come to know his wife so intimately as her slave; he suspected somehow that something was in the bushes. If only his mind wasn't turning fuzzier by the month. To other men, he was a man-traitor and a pussy. It was such a shocking and elevated aggression he had never felt before, not in such proportions and in seemingly normal everyday people. The reasonable ones, still remaining, took their chances with PAM, and at this stage of systemic regression, without much of a choice left. New, progressive laws tried to protect the upstanding citizen class. It was a slow and difficult process, and once-entitled men were hit particularly hard (by infection and PAM). After that, the smallest sign of early symptoms from the XY virus—aggression, difficulty in concentrating, or mental confusion—could send men on sick leave; or worse, out of fear or resentment, get them fired and reported to the public health authority. In the infected population, the elusive virus still progressed with its retardation, manifesting only in one gender. Those men who fled to neighboring countries weren't safe either. What their fear did accomplish was to further propagate the cunning virus, creating the same, slow revolution in the surrounding countries. The novel pandemic eventually spread, changing the fabric of all colonial societies on the planet. A 'matriarchal reckoning' historians would call it, now loomed over the planet like an overflowing dam, a well-planned tsunami in the process of leveling the old, failing system. Certain people were ready to rebuild it for the betterment of all citizens of colony B805-XX. Soon, even its history will be rewritten by the winners and its old name forgotten. In the near future, it'll become known as the Empire of Planet XX.
"Now," his wife said. "Now!?" Adam asked, somewhat in shock. He thought they were about to have another crazy play session again. "Yes, we'll do it today, honey." "But..." Adam wanted to say. He knew better though. Arguing with his wife was pointless. A slave only speaks when asked, or painful consequences await him. Carol, his wife, was talking about his sale: a fantasy they had both discussed often together over the last years. Somehow, their kinky, and so far, private lives now overlapped with the weird world outside—very much to the liking of his wife. She was always the one who egged him on, gently cultivating his submissiveness, and he loved her for that more than anything. Now, it was possible: he would be sold into slavery (scary as the thought suddenly was), except that he would be leased out by his Carol; she loved the rush of power too much. (Good thing he didn't know how much money she was passing up on.) The purpose of their 'sale' was to make Adam nothing less than a true slave—just for a year. It would be a grueling event to change him forever and for the better. All of that, of course, he wished, in part, and would do for his Carol without hesitation, except he wasn't entirely sure if he was truly ready for his next submissive stage? If she was by his side, he could endure hell. But this adventure into the cruel depths of slavery he had to travel alone. After a certain time period, she'd simply get her loaned husband back as a changed man. It would be the ultimate trial by fire for a submissive like Adam, a test of his courage and convictions. If he failed, the system would break him; Carol was fine with that too. She'd still receive a slave who would serve her most obediently. His only trouble was: she was very persistent about it, and as his Mistress, could be even more persuasive. His hands and feet remained naturally cuffed within the house. Now, it all became too real, too quickly even for his kinky tastes! Adam stood naked in front of her, and he felt his wife's often cold hands on his exposed balls, grabbing them like a fun hand warmer—or a squeaky toy. She fastened his heavy and familiar steel shackle back around his soft sack of skin. Whenever he came back from work, it had become their familiar routine. It was both exhilarating and scary when his charming wife took his life by the balls. Besides, she had a talent for making him feel like his shaved genitals were good for nothing else. It was the usual snug, tight fit when she managed to make the cuff give its final, metallic click. And all his keys? They were nowhere to be seen. Carol's preferred method of control over her husband, when he clearly needed her tender guidance, was to lead him around by his cuffed jewels. The two steel halves had turned into a smooth, hard ring around his squeezed balls—he was never sure when they would come off again. When his Carol became playful and sadistic, it could take a few days. He could be looking at a night of suffering, or an endless buttfucking before she was fully satisfied with her slave, before she had satisfied her mischievous, dominant needs on and through him. She was strict but fair towards Adam. He stood naked in front of her, while she wore a formal black business dress. It was quite snug and hugged her feminine waist. She wore it together with some fancy and expensive high heeled sandals which made her look as if she was still in the office. She knew how much Adam loved her feet and so often wore open heels to tease him, because she, in turn, loved to be worshiped by her collared husband. She handled a logistics department. It was all very boring, except for the power and influence she wielded over her thirty or so employees. She was good at leading. Though, often she couldn't live out her depraved impulses and fantasies at work, having to abide by the many boring office standards that tried to subjugate her free spirit. Luckily, she had Adam and Megan at home for compensation. Megan was their maid. While Carol had fastened his humiliating testicle cuff, Adam's cock no longer reacted under its unyielding tube—another one of her female successes; a particularly proud achievement of hers. His wife had trained him to soft-cum: without an erection. Many sadomasochistic devices were available on the market for conditioning and achieving that goal. A goal she had more than achieved. Of course, nowadays, all stimulation was exclusively done by her slender and feminine hands, because Adam wouldn't have had the patience, tolerance, or masochism to stomach it. Luckily, she hadn't relinquished control over his locked cock but remained diligent and strict to this day. Not that he had wanted to learn this particular submissive skill, but when his wife became focused on a new goal, she could be very stubborn and controlling. As a humiliating side effect of her mothering tutelage, his cock had shrunken by one full inch. Of course, her sadistic side loved that too. "Not that you'll notice it with your tube" she always said. And so, today, he was finally in trouble. Adam unintentionally stole another glance at her perfectly manicured toes—long and slender, and with her toenails freshly painted in shiny black. In her lavish heels, she stood just a notch taller than her barefooted and naked husband. Slender as she was, she often picked skin-tight outfits that caressed every curve of her beautiful body. Once Carol had agreed to take possession of his pierced little friend, and Adam had been insisting on the occasion for her to take complete control over his key, she had managed to surprise him. Carol had been persistent and fervent (and even somewhat obsessed) about having her own cock to play with now. That Adam was at the other end of this attached appendage was secondary. He hadn't managed to feel a single pleasurable touch by himself since. Touching was forbidden now. Not that he could. With his balls shackled, Carol caressed his tube as usual. No tender sensation managed to come through his rigid steel device. His Mistress loved that fact. It was another submissive aspect of his kinky life of worship and duty under her. He had surrendered it willingly. It seemed odd now in retrospect. Not that there hadn't been tough moments and the occasional self-doubt about his submissive cravings—and its consequences under Carol's imperious control. His familiar and tight chastity tube hadn't come off his manhood for many days now. Not that she ignored him, the opposite. "There was no need," she always said, only necessary when it was time for cleaning and teasing. (A thick piercing made sure nothing could accidentally slip from her control). The heavy ring through his cock still needed some getting used to. It wasn't the only piercing he had received from his wife. His nipples, nose, and tongue shimmered just as ominously with steel rings (and his wife knew how to entertain herself with them). When she permitted him any sort of desperately needed release, it happened exclusively anally now: through his butthole; Carol only offered the penile kind of lust as reward for the most exemplary servitude—and that, he hadn't achieved yet under her absolute monarchy. She judged his manners once a month, while in between, he had to suffer for her lust. His sexual pleasure was no longer his to give, but his wife's sole desire. Like many of his possessions, they had gone over into her hands: his orgasms, the house, his salary, his cock... Yet he loved her and the power and control she now wielded over him more than anything! Carol's dark brown hair often remained tied in a strict, sleek ponytail, underlining her dominant streak. She walked just as sternly and elegantly in her expensive heels; besides, the strict look worked wonders on her male subordinates. While she had managed to deepen Adam's submissiveness with her somewhat perverted urges, she had equally time to explore her dominant side, and both partners emerged with more perspective and clarity. Adam became aware again of how exposed and naked she kept him in front of her. Her heels clacked and she walked away from him without saying a word. Sitting down near the entrance by the wardrobe, she stared at him with her sharp, brown eyes. She looked simply stunning to him! In turn, and even though his wife had become ever stricter towards him and the lowly roles he had to play in her household, what she saw seemed just as much to her liking. A sparkle of clear affection always shimmered in her eyes when she looked at her submissive and now chained again Adam. "Come, Adam. Change my shoes." Her feet moved impatiently. "Right away, Mistress!" He shuffled towards her with his many short chains. It was reward—he loved to take care of her many shoes, then put new ones on her slender feet. They had quite a few rooms on the ground floor of their house, with a delightful entrance hall, where at least one of them had a sexy collection of shoes displayed in all their glory. Adam secretly loved to kneel there and clean one pair after another. The newly attached chain on his ball shackle slithered noisily across the hard tiles. His legs were still twice chained, once at the ankles, once above the knees, and both times by cuffs that required keys: her keys. Changing her shoes was just one of his prestigious duties. Anything regarding her body had become his duty and pleasure: washing her, shaving, dressing and undressing, pedicure, you name it. But he had many more matrimonial duties to fulfill: not least, her orgasms! Be it through his obedient tongue or having his body suffer for her peculiar tastes. With his hampering chains clinking, Adam knelt down in front of his beloved Carol. She permitted him just enough leeway with his chained hands while he marveled at her soft ankles. Adam bowed silently, with his hands on the floor, then gently opened the first ankle strap of her expensive heels. At home, his wife took care of all the important business; the trivial kind was delegated to him. She held the responsibility of managing all the critical decisions of the household as well as any important decisions about him. He truly was owned, loved, and cared for. Over the years, his ever-increasing submissiveness had been carefully encouraged, stimulated, and fortified by Carol. His wife's conviction and courage constantly grew and with it, in turn, her sadistic preferences. She was power-tripping, no doubt! If he had as much control over someone, he probably would too. She wore her dark brown strappy heels again. They held her lower foot enticingly: two thin straps going around her delicate ankle and a loop going around her big toe. How he craved her feet by now. Her chastity had him so by the balls! In no time, he had her pink, tasty toes resting in his lap. Just yesterday, he had diligently painted all her toenails to her liking (not that she had given him a choice in that department). Now, they shone in black and looked perfect, perfect for his tongue and some mouth-watering worship. Any chance his Carol would give him, and he'd idolize her splendid body! With his loss of control, his submissive sensations had turned into so much more. Her constant teasing and the concentrated hormones in his bloodstream (due to his orgasm denial) were making it equally difficult to think straight around her. It had been one of the mischievous side effects of her enforced orgasm control, taking hold over his outdated, male impulsiveness. The only bitter downside lately was that his Queen had found a liking in not only prolonging his abstinence but increasing his sexual suffering (usually with the help of their maid). He had become only softer and more servile under her. She liked that change in him, always softly praising it. Only after a few weeks of bursting blue balls, did the sudden, forceful release happen under her hand (or foot), though perfectly spoiled every time! Sometimes she drove him mad. Thank god, she kept him restrained. Carol used a nifty device: when his tube was removed, a modern and wireless rubber bracelet was fastened around the base of his genitals, and it could precisely tell her how close he was to orgasm. It was a cruel device. When she played with him during their endless sessions, he sometimes wished he'd pass out; sometimes he'd beg her to put the damned tube back on his cock! Anything would be better than enduring another second of her skilled teasing. She had a talent for changing his mind. But each time, she would not let him off that easily. She'd spoil it, and firmly extract the beforehand agreed-upon amount of cum. "To keep him healthy," she always told him. Since the continuous use of the wireless rubber bracelet, her iron-handed control over his pleasure had turned somewhat scary. His only way out now was through her blessing. Over the past two years, it had become the only way for him to cum—supervised and no longer by his own choice or touch. Mistress now decided everything in his life. If she wanted him to cum on the spot, she simply made him, but diligently spoiled each time as if it infused and amplified her feminine arousal in turn. His wife just loved to hear him beg. Each rare sexual release (which was just the way she liked it) had become a memorable but humiliating explosion under her playful supervision. Once, and before she had made him orgasm, she had spoiled it ten times in a row for him with her skillful hands—or lubed-up feet. Though, his eleventh orgasm under her care had become heaven and hell on earth! A snap of impatient fingers pulled Adam back out of his horny thoughts. His wife pointed at a particular pair of her many beautiful shoes (while she, in turn, secretly suffered through another hot flash of unsatisfied arousal). Carol couldn't help it today. She had thought about their magical visit to the slave market again. Her pair of heels had been perfectly cleaned after its last use by Adam. He picked it up: light rose wedge heels, with a khaki-colored sole. Just as high as her others, and with a solid heel. He knew they were much more comfortable to wear for her on long shopping trips (she often picked them for city business). It was his duty to know these details so he could serve her properly. Adam knelt in front of his adored wife and dared not to look up. Usually, that's just as she liked it, but this time, things were very different on their intimate Monday. They just had their lunch: her, dining on top, him, down on the floor. "As it should be," she always said. 'Maybe she was only joking?' Adam thought, but dutifully slipped the second heel on her other bare foot. It took some careful pulling at the back of her warm heel to get her slender foot in the snug fit of the shoe. When her feminine feet could rest in his lap he enjoyed an odd sense of purpose. Today though, he kept any touching of her smooth, perfect ankles to a minimum. It would turn too distracting! Each wedge heel only needed its light-rose but thick leather strap closed around her ankle. That's when he noticed how he unintentionally clenched his steel buttplug. His hole remained more than filled. And his sheathed cock, so close to her warm soles? It seemed completely useless and trapped under her spell. Still, he did the only thing he could: focus his denied arousal into servitude. Anything to please her! In turn, she'd please him with a very special and perverted kind of love. The warmth of her ankle tried to melt his hand. For a moment, it lay idly in his palm. While he was naked and stuck in his chains, her fully dressed presence emphasized the unique rules of their household. He was hers. Whenever the realization struck him, and his voracious urge followed, it was no longer happening in his cock as a sudden erection. He had to remain steadfast and ignore the pounding in his chest. Somehow, it hit deeper there. Asking her for release only added a full extra week. (She had taught him the cruel way.) Her toes became impatient while he could sense her judgemental gaze on his bowed head. With his task completed, and every strap tucked away on Carol's pretty heels, Adam waited silently and obediently at her feet; it was the expected demeanor of a body slave. His many chains clinked from just the smallest of movements, and each time the restrictiveness of his familiar chains made him aware of its hold over him. It was hard to believe but it was a cozy embrace that held him—except when kneeling. His wife seemed happier than usual today. "Kiss," Carol demanded and wiggled her toes in her fresh heels. "But no tongue or you'll get the whip. I don't need no slave drool today on my pretty wedges." "Yes, Mistress!" His short chains and many shackles made any task more difficult. Adam inched closer on his bare knees and bowed low, so low his nose touched her warm toes. The fragrance of fresh shoes and the faint saltiness of warm skin tickled his senses. At her feet, it was his most submissive pose: knees tightly folded under his chest, with his torso pressing down from on top. Not only did this pose expose his butt (and make him feel more vulnerable in front of her) but it reduced him to a miniature under her towering, feminine presence. Naked and chained, he was hers. Adam's chains gently clinked and he gave his Mistress's magnificent feet many warm, heartfelt kisses. The faint scent of skin and feet... it was pure heaven for his submissive soul! Besides, his prolonged chastity has freed him of any old inhibitions. He craved her. "Good boy." Her voice carried only more of that sensual cruelty. She bent over him, and he noticed her hands were adjusting the arm chain in his back, reducing the slack in front. Until his face got crudely pushed away by her foot. Carol picked up his leash and walked away. The painful yank on his shackled sack was all it needed to convince him to follow wherever she'd go! "What price do you think you'll fetch at the slave market, husband?" she said in the most casual tone. What was he to say to that!? She walked with him straight to the entrance door of their house, picked up purse and whip—a well-used riding crop—and seemed to want to head out. "I...I don't know, Mistress!" Of course, he followed her to avoid any pain in his bound testicles. All that quick movement made him much too conscious of the many chains holding him prisoner; particularly, the shortened chain in his back, connecting his upper arm cuffs, now pinning his shackled hands to his stomach. He wore a long-term steel waist belt above his hips, similar to the ever-present steel collar around his neck. Both items of ownership remained locked in place at all times. Not that his arm restraints really needed it, but she still secured his wrist cuffs to the frontal ring of his sturdy steel belt. A handy lock had snapped in place. It now prevented him from daring to reach for his controlling leash. His wife was careful with these things. Whether it was the weekly cleaning cycles for his chastity tube, or when she made him cum in various cruel ways, he was always kept restrained and not in charge. (Making him cum merely meant any technique that made him ejaculate, not necessarily a good orgasm or that it would feel pleasurable for him.) The devil's in the detail. Carol had evolved, and so had her skills to deepen her slave's suffering. She made him cum just as promised (not that she had to promise anything). It kept her husband's chaste hopes up, and she loved that, playing with his gullible and horny feelings. Furthermore, escape-proof restraints always held him within their four walls—Carol preferred steel restraints to accomplish that job. The leeway she had given her docile slave, just enough so Adam could accomplish all his daily given tasks with difficulty, has now been rescinded again by his revered Mistress. His cuffed hands were utterly stuck in place at waist height, and the ominous leash going away from his balls brought on an unwanted rush of arousing helplessness, unwanted because with his ever-present tube he had long lost control over when he would be made to feel his cravings. They happened more often and more spontaneously now. He has no keys for any of his chains, never had them; neither did their maid (well, Mistress's maid actually). Only when Adam has to leave for work does his wife permit him freedom from his chains, together with the short-earned freedom of being permitted to wear clothes again in front of her. But not from his many hand and leg cuffs (though, luckily, mostly hidden by his clothes). She always keeps on saying, "Your cuffs don't have to ever come off again, Adam." Adam gave a faint sigh. He tried to accustom himself again to his made-useless arms. In just ten years, his hard-earned MSc in Data Science has become useless. His male clearance was no longer high enough, they said. At the behest of his wife, he had to reeducate himself to become a masseur—his wife had liked that—and his customers were mostly women, mostly older women, to his disappointment (which forced him to focus on his job). It was an honest job though. Only his tube sometimes made it most difficult, particularly when the body of a young and firm customer required the relaxing and mending touches of his strong hands. His new, meager salary naturally passed over into his wife's competent care. She managed everything financially for him. Adam required her permission to buy anything meaningful by himself. The pocket money she gave him each week was paltry but fair, for his position. Yet, on today's unusual Monday, his wife hadn't given him his clothes back, and without her blessing, he couldn't get to them. Over in their kitchen, the maid was still busy cleaning up after lunch. Her chains occasionally clinked when they hit the kitchen sink. She was his wife's second voluntary slave (and lover) in their homely little hierarchy. Within their four walls, even the maid stood above Adam in their secretive and hidden-away lifestyle. Truth be told, more than once Adam, as the bootlicking husband, had fantasized about the maid's petite body. Maybe it was her flawless, sexy uniform that always caught his gaze? He promptly returned his attention to his close and alluring wife! She had a puzzling knack for noticing his daydreaming. Adam took a deep breath of her feminine aroma: a fresh spring fragrance like lotus or lily tried to convince him to worship her only more—though, completely unnecessarily at this point. Her chastity training had done the job. For almost ten years now, the odd couple has been happily married. And for five years, she continued his training and had him by the balls. But today, Adam really felt worried. His wife's slender fingers still held the leash to his balls; another light tug by Carol, and he scurried without a choice after her. She had taught him well. If the signal wasn't promptly followed, she'd use force and yank on it for good measure; a lesson well learned, and he generally tried to avoid feeling her convincing pain. Her heels kept her slender legs tall, tense, and much too alluring in front of him. He stared with a salivating mouth, swallowed, and bit his lip. His wife's determined steps clicked swiftly in front and all of Adam's short chains sprang alive! With his chained body, he was at her mercy. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Adam murmured behind her. He had lagged. His leash gave no margin, only handed out more pain for annoying (or failing) her. Talking was unnecessary for a slave. They both knew what burden awaited him: she would really lease him out today. "Megan," Carol said towards the kitchen, "I'll be back home in an hour or so..." "Yes, Mistress," a young, busy voice came echoing out of the kitchen. They stood near the entrance door. For poor Adam, the urge to speak had turned into an inner battle of wills. His wife's sparkling brown eyes observed him with a threatening glare. After a light pull by her hand, he found himself involuntarily outside their cozy home. The late summer air was already fresh and he couldn't hide a shiver running across his naked body. She locked the door behind them while his heart raced. She would lead him outside like this, naked and chained?! He strained his arms, used his strength, tried to reach for the leash—but it was no use fighting against his slave steel. Not only was there the fact of his locked-away pleasure (and its weeks of enforced abstinence) but she held many penalties in store for him should he—her slave—display bad manners, and thus, in turn, stain her respectable character in front of others; though, previously only in their own home or at their friend's. Politically, things might have changed outside as well, but not in Adam's head, yet. "M..m...Mistress," Adam stammered. "With...without my clothes?" It was all too much for poor Adam and he pulled back. Carol's head turned, her sharp ponytail swished, and her dark eyes bored into him, now full of malice—the little things weren't little for her but the very seed that needed weeding out! Her hand pulled harshly. The strangled balls at the other end of the sturdy chain leaped towards her, and with it, her husband's cry of regret as he crumbled like a neutered dog. A visceral pain shot through his groin! Adam was unable to reach it and his arms tensed uselessly against his restraints. She was taller than him on her heels and clearly now in full control. "You know how I don't like your submissive eccentricities," she hissed. 'Eccen... what?' he thought. "Do you want to enjoy another lovely night in your tiny cage? Maybe I should give you another good fucking right now while you're cramped inside?" His wife kept his ball chain painfully taut. Even though the urge to look up and plead with her burned in him, he kept his head obediently bowed—just as she liked it. "Megan and I always have the best of naps in my Mistress bedroom, particularly after we have satisfied each other. Do you want a chance to contemplate your mistakes, slave?" It was a rhetorical question. "No? Maybe I should sell you right away and not just lease you out..." She put her heeled foot on his back, making him grovel even more. The thought made him tremble. Perfect silence followed. Not that she needed to make another point, but she pulled him up by the chain and slapped him hard, smacked some sense into him, and left his cheek sore and burning, right at their doorstep. He shook his head in appalled silence and his head flushed red like a tomato. Humiliated by his wife, he couldn't look at her any longer. As her secret house slave, there were clear rules he was to follow under her authority: one was 'No nagging', another 'No display of disobedience in public'. By her interpretation, they apparently were now 'in public'. "I'm really sorry, Mistress," Adam whimpered, "but.. but I'm scared." "I know, I know, honey," Carol teased with a sarcastic tone. "But it's for the better, and your future." Her last words had become stern. He could still perfectly remember how the last time in his slave cage had felt. A naked and shackled Adam looked at his wife's chest, at her waist—seemingly anywhere but into her strict eyes. Over the years, she had conditioned and molded his submissiveness further to her liking, had subjugated him more than he had realized. And so it was natural for Adam to feel he could no longer bear her penetrating look of utter disappointment. Getting slapped in the face was nothing new to him. She was quick with the hand (or whip) to correct him. He was only glad she didn't whip him in front of the neighbors! Carol kept the leash to his shackled testicles taut and short, so much that he could feel her warm breath. "No? No more eccentricities to show, pussylicker?" By now, his wife knew how easily he could be humiliated, knew all his intimate buttons and weaknesses. Adam shook his head in bitter regret, clenching his ever-present buttplug, hoping he wouldn't feel—at any moment—the sting of her whip on his bare buttocks. People would see! That realization was almost worse than the mere correctional pain administered by Mistress. It had become one of her overbearing specialties: spotting and correcting the occasional tendencies in her slave before they became of significance. She had the innate talent of making him feel like a silly little boy under her superior rule. But there was more to this change than met the eye. Outside, change had happened too. Unknown to Adam, the pills she secretly fed him were only one of the matriarchal reforms her supreme party had in mind. "If there's one thing I don't like in my slaves, Adam," she said, "it's disobedience and a display of attitude. Do you want me to get your gag out from my purse?" Adam shook his head. Being gagged in public would only make him look worse. "You're lucky no one saw us! You would have embarrassed me. You know your duties as my personal slave are the exact opposite, aren't they?" Whenever she spoke his name, it gave him a shudder that ran across his entire naked body. It was her I-mean-it voice she used most expertly whenever potential punishment was looming. Adam also shuddered in his chains because he had clearly offended his beloved Queen! The fear he felt today, though, wasn't making his duties to her especially easy. Naturally, during these trying times for society, her expectations of Adam had lessened in some areas, while in others, they had remarkably risen: duty, servitude, gentleness, and servility—to name a few—had become of the utmost importance not only to his Mistress but to him. There was no doubt in his mind over who would make the better ruler, not just at home, but to bring back order to the entire struggling planet. Carol had endured enough of the ever-growing stupidity, sexism, and violence all around her. 'She really believed it, too,' Adam had come to realize over the past years. He was exceedingly happy with how things were at home. The outside didn't affect him that much, but if push came to show, he irrefutably had her back! The only thing left for him to do, if he didn't want to suffer the bad kind of pain under her firm hand, the correctional pain, was to show remorse for his inferior manners. Now! Adam fell on his knees again in front of her, right outside the fancy front door of their house. It was a sunny day outside. The birds twittered uninterrupted and the long, elaborate garden path, leading away from their home, looked devoid of any visitors. She liked it when he humiliated himself in front of her. It emphasized their fundamental differences while elevating her position of power further (and that always made her wet for him, though, not always forgiving). "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he stammered in earnest, kissing the soft, warm skin of her feet. She towered silently over him while his many chains slithered on the concrete. She let him struggle with himself for... much too long. His knees hurt on the hard bricks and his mind had gone blank at the thought of their neighbors spotting him like this, like a groveling, broken pet that had thrown itself at her heels. His lack of clothing, his chains' constant grip, and her whip, all touched him much too deeply, so much that he had come to believe he deserved nothing less. He had to bring back the peace—the sacred peace between Mistress and slave—or suffer the agreed-upon consequences of her wrath. Maybe she would reconsider leasing him out, or maybe shorten his contract duration, or maybe she'd show leniency about his long chastity periods! He had to try his slavish luck. Just as his lips gently kissed her soft, tender toes, begging her wholeheartedly for her sparse forgiveness, his eyes darted along their brick-paved garden path towards the quiet road near their suburban driveway. Just at this moment, and while he shivered at his wife's feet, a Robo-patrol car rolled past them, not in any particular hurry and as if hunting for potential criminals on the loose (which were mostly 'males' nowadays). With all the newly enacted laws of late, he not only had lost sight of what was still lawful behavior as a male but he had also lost confidence in his memory. Lately, he was getting more forgetful about many unimportant things from his former life, the things he once had known as her husband, her provider, and her lover. Almost all of his former skills had become obsolete. The slave and property laws, enacted now many years ago, had been one insurmountable chunk of change to digest. He had never quite expected that 'that' would actually affect him in real life, or at home. He was already a treasured slave. And yet, it did affect him. As a naturally submissive man, though, he had no objections or complaints to offer to his wife. He quickly returned his nervous gaze to Carol's delicate feet. He groveled for her mercy; he could grovel well by now. Her fancy attire dominated every crevice of his lowly thoughts. It took a while of utterly humiliating himself in front of her before the reassuring tug finally twitched on his leash. Absolved!? "That's better, my foot-licking pet," she hummed from above. "You know, the way you look now, you better be careful or that police car might take you away to who-knows-where, you know, wherever they take unregistered males nowadays." She spoke slowly and with a pleasant lust in her voice. That wasn't the talk he wanted to hear right now from his beloved Mistress! His nerves were already lying bare as it was. His wife watched him, hardly lowering her head while her eyes glowed with that intimately familiar, cold dominance. He knew that was when her unconstrained arousal rose and she often demanded his obedient tongue in an instant! Love, fear, uncertainty? He felt it all at her feet. Adam had become helplessly trapped under her sadistic glamor. "Come," Carol said gently, though it seemed as if it had taken her some effort to finally start walking. The quick click-clacking of her feminine heels on their brick-paved garden path became his sole focus. The ground was cold under his feet as he walked with difficulty after her. First, she headed with him towards the curb of their sidewalk, then even further along the quiet tree-lined road. The dirty asphalt under his bare feet needed some getting used to, particularly at the end of summer. Adam kept his eyes on the ground, feeling not a speck of desire to check for any staring neighbor. The chill now came through his painfully obvious steel tube, giving him a cold, intimate shiver. Neither could he reach for it with his hands and hide the fact of his emasculation. His thick glans piercing has cooled off, too, and become more evident than ever in his shriveled cock. Carol walked with him in tow, keeping Adam in the dark (neither did he dare to ask). What if she took the bus with him? Or maybe strolled into the city on foot? They lived close to the city, in a nice house, and in an even nicer neighborhood. They hadn't had any unrest here. Not that it wasn't for lack of trying, but his restrained hands just couldn't reach down far enough from his waist belt to ease the pain of her impatient jerks. He hurried after her long stride with small, stymied steps, eyes pointed at the ground she walked on. How he loved and hated it all at once, loved her overbearing presence and her bondage, yet hated his unfolding, public humiliation. They had reached the first crossroad where all their neighbor's driveways merged into a more public road. An unknown car drove slowly past them. Adam had never felt so conscious and exposed before. Whenever he flinched from random noises, he felt the sizeable steel of his slave plug filling his hole with only more embarrassment. They stopped. His well-dressed wife took her phone out but he couldn't read it; the sunlight obscured the screen. It was bright as day. He could hide no longer. Standing beside her with his polished chastity tube made the fickle nature of his subjugated situation ten times worse. Everyone would see what she had done to him. Adam waited tensely beside his Mistress, for who-knew-what! It turned grueling. He chewed on his tongue. Uncertainty was not something his submissive mind craved, nor change. His perfectly calm wife seemed relaxed and in no hurry while they stood and waited. All his steel restraints turned on him. Their grip became a harsh new reality outside. Never before had he been led naked from their home. Carol, on the other hand, had only grown prouder and happier with his leash in hand. "I expect you to be on your best behavior today, slave. Some of my PAM* gals might see us at the Ministry." (*The Matriarchists) "Yes, Mistress. I know! I'm sorry..." The thought of visiting the gigantic Ministry complex, in his naked and chained outfit, was not in the least a calming prospect to Adam. She was still obsessed with her movement and how slowly it progressed. As goal-oriented as she was, she had her impatient moments. Adam had felt them first-hand. "You know I only want the best for you Adam." A tug on his leash and he was to kneel beside her pretty heels, right on the bare sidewalk. It took all his remaining willpower not to beg her again like a broken toy. The glowing heat on his face would not leave him. Kneeling naked, chaste, and chained beside her like a pet, his mind raced, then turned blank. His stupid dependency on her strict love had him by the balls. Funny how the air smelled, just a few feet lower; he noticed a tinge of fresh dog piss and grass, coming from behind him. Shackled and chained, a cool breeze made his body shiver and shrink only more. Adam stole a glimpse of his wife's slender toes, but quickly returned his gaze straight ahead. It was hard to think straight under her all-powerful governance. He wanted to peep at her sexy legs and feet, looking for comfort, but with his secure tube always in place, the act seemed more than pointless, masochistic rather (and he couldn't stomach any more right now). They hadn't fucked for a long time; or rather, she had fucked him, and that had slowly changed their relationship permanently—even for a BDSM couple. Her word had become the law in their kinky bedroom, while outside, her party of emancipated women made equally sure. Contrary to his imagination, his sense of dignity and his submissive role had only dropped him deeper into her lap. Yet, she always managed to make him feel loved and nurtured as only a Mistress could. His hungry cock was now forbidden territory. It was hers, just like he was. "Hubby?" she purred, "are you thinking about me?" Adam looked gingerly up and confessed, giving a meek glance and nod. Her leash-hand now rested on his head. It was pure bliss. The occasional car drove slowly past. Adam kept his eyes pressed shut in horror. The electric humming of a taxi slowed and came to a halt. That pulled a naked Adam back out of his gloomy thoughts. A woman, maybe in her fifties, sat at the wheels and calmly looked at them. Carol opened the door and hopped in first like it was the most casual thing, then pulled her naked slave after her by its shackled balls. The spacious interior of the cab offered four seats, two and two, facing each other, and gave plenty of legroom. "To the Ministry please, Slave Department," Carol said in her usual, determined tone. Though, nothing about this was usual for Adam. "Right away dear," the woman in front replied and drove off. Adam could feel the other woman's eyes boring into his exposed body. He couldn't make himself look up any longer. He wanted to sit down in one of the comfy seats, as usual. He froze in his motion as soon as he spotted his wife's low eyebrows, staring at him as if he was crazy. "Don't you dare," she sneered. By now Adam's armpits were soaked from sweat. He was expected to kneel on the filthy floor? Feeling no longer like he had a choice in his wife's esteemed presence, he complied; of course he complied. "You have become way too filthy to sit on a normal seat, husband," she hummed, then crossed her long legs and looked him over. She looked exceedingly happy today. The rigid shackles on his legs didn't make any of this easy, as one sturdy pair held him by the ankles, the other above his knees. Both hurt when kneeling. His wife certainly knew this. Out of habit, Adam lowered his head in defeat; a natural position for him when kneeling by his Mistress's feet. The red-hot color on his face wouldn't vanish while they drove into the city. By now, he spotted a PAM sticker on the window of the backdoor. Mistress's eyes bored into him and remained on his body, sometimes resting on his pierced nipples, sometimes staring at his shiny tube. Adam was used to this. She was thinking things over in her usual, calculated manner. "I see you support the right party," Carol said after a while, but not to him. "Certainly," the women in front croaked back. "I've sold mine over two years ago, my husband. He had become just too aggressive. Best decision of my life." "You don't say," Carol said looking back down again into her husband's now uncertain eyes. "Can't be too long now, our hallowed matriarchy." "That's right," the driver said, becoming enthusiastic. "Some just neuter the aggressive ones, you know, but I have my doubts. Once they become belligerent, you better give them over to the hospital I say. They know what to do with them." Their cab reached the city, struggling through a clogged double lane. The AC of the cab kept a comfortable cabin temperature—for people who wore clothes. After some silence, Mistress's mischievous side revealed itself. "Adam, when did I make you cum the last time?" Carol asked in a louder than usual voice. "Uhm..." he said, feeling the fading heat suddenly rushing back into his face. He did some quick thinking! "22 days ago, Mistress?" Adam said red-faced. She always teased him with that. If he didn't know the correct number, she'd add a few days (before his spoiled release, that is). "Wrong, slave. It's 23 days today." A smirk danced across her lips. It took him a painful moment to realize that his time had just been extended. "And when was my last orgasm?" Carol said. In a flash, Adam had to remember her uninhibited pleasure just... "...this morning, Mistress," he answered solemnly. His patient and well-trained tongue had been of great service again. He could still smell her intimate scent on his lips, just barely. With a gentle tug on his leash, Mistress permitted him to come closer. "Just for a moment, come here. We won't see each other for a while, slave." Adam sat close enough that his torso and arm touched her smooth leg, then she placed her hand on his head. It was intimacy. The rest of the drive happened without another word (not that Adam hadn't a few burning questions on his mind). Carol seemed deep in thought again but surprisingly smug. She smiled when returning his gaze, then looked back out the window. Once their cab had arrived at their destination, it was still a long, humiliating walk through a crowd of clothed and naked people. All his doubts only grew when he saw many more chained and naked men and women lead on leashes. A lot had changed. Many looked to have the same apprehension Adam felt at this very moment. Carol's click-clacking heels led him to the Department of Slavery—a tall building with many floors—where Carol had to fill out some boring forms. And from there, it took him another thousand short steps to the collection point or 'self-check-in'. Even though it was on the ground floor of the infamous Slave Market structure, when he stood at the foot of this giant, cube-shaped building it reminded him more of a dark fortress. The orange light that managed to escape its sporadic slits loomed in spartan contrast to the black, slick surfaces of this colossal government building. He was about to experience all of society's latest changes on his own bare skin (and most had been carefully orchestrated by the currently elected PAM). This complex not only had to accommodate its giant bureaucracy apparatus, to handle all sales, but securely house and store the many slaves who were available for auction. It was a prominent landmark between the city's many skyscrapers. In comparison, the Department of Slavery tower was tall and elegant and handled all matters concerning slaves currently serving on the outside (and within society). Adam didn't like this, he didn't like this at all! Carol guided him firmly behind her, through the ground floor facade of a hundred entrance doors and into a vast waiting area. It was as if they had entered a giant airport. It even smelled of airport—and people. Its endless inside hosted at least a hundred check-in counters at one side, while the other was full with rows and rows of seats, and people. Its uncaring, white office lights underlined its soulless interior. He heard muffled talking as Carol continued inside. Adam spotted at least two robotic patrols, with two armed androids per unit. Carol led Adam purposefully to the right area. He felt at a loss at all these signs and notices. 'What have I gotten myself into?' He was terribly close to breaking the silence, begging her to reconsider. But he wasn't the first to try this smart tactic. Another Robo-patrol was still busy with a mouthy slave. They used a shock stick to subdue the screamer. And more than once... That, in turn, kept Adam's mouth shut, and many others watched in shock. Adam kept his head bowed and gave Carol even some slack on the leash. All check-ins were queued by birth month and they had already reached his birth month. Adam couldn't stop sweating like a chained pig. His balls still ached from all the pulling since dinner. He didn't know what he would do if he wasn't chained. He definitely couldn't do this without his Carol at the reins. All the other naked and miserable looking slaves gave him no relief, not even the chained slave girls. Many were shaved bald or displayed old and new welts between their shimmering piercings and chains. Adam's rigid posture might not have tensed his leash but all his body chains were taut. His still confidently strolling Mistress seemed to notice this too and took away the remaining latitude to his chained balls. The rising tension made Adam mindful of his still worn steel plug. Its girth (and Mistress hadn't held back there either) caused him, in the heat of the moment, most unwanted sensations. It wouldn't come out on its own, that much he knew. Carol kept his slave hole in the best of health, constantly stretched and lubed, ready for use at any moment if she felt the need. Maybe five minutes later and their drawn number was already flashing on the big screens. The sounds of Mistress's eager heels led him to a low gate, like a subway ticket gate. Carol held the red plastic ticket to the reader, the gate beeped, and they could walk through. Adam only followed because the delicate pain in his ballsack convinced him more than anything else! He no longer felt the itch of putting himself up for auction. However, if he broke the silence unasked, Mistress would be furious with him. That fear kept him somewhat docile. They entered a white, private room. It was well illuminated, spacious, and quite different than the boring waiting area. An odd contraption hung a few steps in front of them from an overhead rail. There stood a terminal, facing the contraption, and an office lady waited beside it. Once he saw it, something clicked behind him, just above his collar. Its powerful grip held him suddenly rigid. His whole body turned limp and tense with a tingle. His entire weight now pulled on his neck and he couldn't move a muscle. His sudden panic didn't manage to manifest on his frozen face. Whatever machine held him, his hovering body moved forward, towards the odd frame thing. "It's almost over, Adam," Carol said from close by. "That's a good boy." The office lady came closer, wearing short heels, dark stockings, and a neat blouse tightly buttoned up to her neck. She looked like your everyday office manager. "Hello!" she said to his wife and beamed. "You must be the Hendersons?" "That's right," Carol said. "I'm here to have my husband leased out." "I see, great!" the lady said. "For the evening auctions?" "Yes." Adam couldn't utter a word, he could only blink with difficulty and barely move his eyes to see them standing beside him. Oddly enough, it felt like he was pissing himself. The tingling, invasive electricity made it hard to feel anything else in his suddenly rigid muscles. Then he saw it in Carol's face: he was pissing himself! Her surprised smirk gave it away at once. "Not to worry," the clerk said cheerfully. "That sometimes happens with them when they're stuck in the electric slave restraints. It's perfectly harmless to the slave." It didn't feel harmless to Adam! His eyes remained wide in shock. Carol gave him a sinister smile, crossed her arms, and watched him in delight. His sudden accident must be draining somewhere because the smell of his urine vanished quickly. The sterile and artificial smell of plastic and cleaning agent was quickly back in his nose, filling out the entire white room. "May I have his keys?" the clerk said to Carol and snapped a pair of white latex gloves on. "Here." Carol happily handed them over. She'd had them in her fancy purse all along? This meant they would finally come off his body. He was glad. Adam soon felt the clerk's gloved hands touching him. Everything that held him slowly came loose. With a final click, even the snug, and by now familiar tube around his penis, the office lady effortlessly slipped off. Feeling more than a little petrified, Adam was disappointment that his little friend didn't react to the sudden freedom and the cold touch of fresh air. His body hung equally limp, like a sack of useless potatoes. She even removed his more than familiar waist belt and collar and had him now bare naked in front of her. The steely grip of the machine remained around his neck and its powerful presence grew more painful. Seemingly with ease, it held his full weight by the neck. The dark hair of the office lady smelled nice and tickled his face. She was bold and ignored any notion of personal space. "The plug in his ass he can keep," Carol interjected. "It's already a standardized 'size 5' slave plug." He did wear just that. As hot as the initial idea had been to wear a real one, it had lost its appeal somewhat after having to constantly wear it with his chastity tube, day and night. Carol had made him. From the first day his size 3 had arrived, she had kept his sorry asshole plugged. It touched a delicate spot in his masculinity, and once Carol had noticed, she had taken full advantage of the fact. "Ah good," the clerk lady said, "that will make things easier." But she still verified it. Her hands grabbed his rectal device at the base. He wanted to moan. The unfamiliar woman wasn't gentle at all about it. With her other hand, she pressed some buttons on her digital notepad. Adam felt growing relief as the concealed monster shrank somewhat in his ass. Its secondary locking function must have also been disabled. (If he tried expelling his slave plug without permission a built-in pull-out preventer would tense his anus through a non-painful current. He hadn't exactly been wearing it by choice.) Having disappeared from view, the clerk lady pulled impatiently on his big plug, but still, it was stuck within. "Oh, tense, are we?" she said from behind. Her voice sounded patronizing. 'Of course I am,' he screamed in his head. The paralyzing current was still flowing through him. Suddenly the pressure in his asshole built. The thick plug tried to emerge way too quickly from the well-lubed hole of his limp body. Adam couldn't stop her assault. His ring muscle cramped from the sudden dilation (but not from the electric lock). Halfway out, the woman stopped pulling and held the invasive slave device in place. She was violating him. Adam felt like shitting himself. A moment later, the enthusiastic office lady rammed his size 5 back into his hole, humming an "Mmmm" and giving him a gentle smack on his buttock. Adam was in pain, the bad anal pain. It washed through him in hot waves. His occupied hole clamped around the familiar plug like a mouth to a pacifier. He had wanted to stop her, to tell her, but his body wasn't responding to his will; neither had Carol lifted a finger. The clerk tapped on her digital notepad and Adam felt his familiar ass-companion grow back to its usual and thick 'occupied-mode'. He wanted to give a frustrated sigh, but couldn't even accomplish that. Nothing helped at easing his pain, tension, or humiliation. A woman he had never seen before handled him like an object. Now that his familiar collar, waist band, chastity tube, and all his other shackles were gone, this woman had stripped him more than naked in front of her. Instinctively, he tried distracting himself. The office lady wore a wonderful dark and shiny pantyhose that emphasized slender and exquisite legs—the pain in his stuffed hole only slowly subsided. The shiny material covered her legs from the ankle straps of her low pumps to the enchanting area below her skirt, stopping his lusty eyes from undressing her any further. She had seen everything of him, in turn, but only gave Adam a condescending look. Something metallic moved on a rail behind him, touching him under his armpits. Cold steel pressed all along his back and legs, giving him a disquieting shiver. The lady seemed to work with an established routine: round bars slipped easily under his armpits; soft mittens tightened over his limp hands, holding them as fists; steel shackles closed around his torso, waist, legs, and arms until he was tightly held in a floating position; buckles ratcheted and each shackle and cuff became tighter until he was sure he had become one with the dangling frame. His legs were lightly spread and so were his arms. He wanted to resist, fight its touch—he did—but his body just wouldn't respond. The clerk finally fastened a strap over his forehead. As the cherry on top, she didn't seem finished yet. "May I?" Carol said sweetly. "Sure! Why not," the clerk said and came back into view with a smile. Instead, Carol came into view until she filled his entire vision. His complete nakedness made him feel very small in front of her well-dressed figure. Her flowery scent unfolded its overpowering allure over his feeble mind. At this very moment, he wanted to beg her, and grovel at her feet. Her beautiful eyes beamed at him as if enjoying every moment; the rest of her face remained indifferent. He knew that look. No amount of begging, whimpering, or groveling could change her plotting mind now! "Let's get this nice and tight," Carol said amused. A finger of hers gently touched Adam's chin and his jaw opened effortlessly without his doing. Whether he wanted to or not, wanted to ask questions, run away, or complain from sheer panic and fear in his beating chest, his limp jaw opened without hesitation or resistance under the paralyzing current. Nonetheless, his whole body was steeped in cold sweat and his fear permeated the room. He smelled like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Something black and smooth greeted his tongue. It tasted bad, like old rubber. His teeth slipped in groves, and his mouth was suddenly more than filled by its huge size. It almost reached back too far and he wanted to signal with wide eyes! Carol's clothes brushed against his body. She reached behind and fixed the crude thing to the frame. The heavy gag pad occupied his entire mouth while he still felt not willing to let her gag him. As so often, his mind lagged behind again. After her diligent ministrations, Adam's head had become stuck to the steel contraption. Her dress brushed innocently over his exposed cock. Her determined eyes locked with his and he saw it in hers: She knew what she was doing! No pleasant response happened below and Adam remained as distraught as only a soon-to-be slave could, now trapped within the market's dark, ominous structure. The other woman pressed more buttons on her console stand. The odd tingling vanished in an instant from Adam's limbs. Had he only imagined it? Immediately, he tensed and fought against his new slave restraints. His paralysis was really gone. Mistress held on to him, held his limp cock in her slender hand, and gave him one of her sly and sadistic looks. Adam tried calmly talking to his wife but even he couldn't make sense of his muffled words, turning quickly into uncontrolled groans. The sudden, blank helplessness rising up in him provoked only further struggling. His entire body tensed and fought as if his life depended on it! The white room remained surprisingly quiet. He used all his strength, all his male power to resist her subjugation. The clerk interrupted his desperate escape attempts. "Shall we start with your husband's contract restrictions, Ms. Henderson?" And the Clerk came into view with her glowing notepad. "Sure," Carol said. "I was thinking about a three-year slave contract for my husband." Adam swallowed hard, uncertain if he heard right? Once he saw she was serious, he tried screaming. The heavy gag in his mouth kept him more than docile. "After which time, I'm fully authorized to obtain him back," Carol added. With this, her hand grabbed him harder, testing how useless his male appendage had become. 'Please no, Mistress!' Adam thought and tried hard to convey it with wide eyes. His hands remained tight fists in the unrelenting and thick plastic bags. His strength was no use. "You see, not merely one year, like we spoke, but three years would make sure you'd be broken for good before you'll return into my pleasant service as a proper slave." Adam couldn't even shake his head, let alone make any appeasing gestures. He was more than stuck to the swaying frame. "Three-year contract, check," the clerk repeated. Adam screamed. "He should make another owner quite happy for a while—and your purse." The clerk sniggered. "Docile males are in high demand, you know? Does your husband possess any slave experience, training, or conditioning, Ms. Henderson?" "Oh, yes, he's well-trained as a personal body slave, and he can give the best sensual massages. But that's not how I want him to end up." Carol pressed her lips, trying to stifle a smile. "No?" the other woman said astounded. "No," Carol said and her eyes bored into her possession with blind conviction. Adam tried struggling again but the hanging frame that held him didn't even sway under his wimpy efforts. 'That's not what we agreed!' Adam wanted to shout. His fingers and feet still tingled from the odd current he had experienced before, leaving his muscles aching. The two women ignored him as if he wasn't even there. "Is he receiving his weekly booster pills?" the clerk asked. "Yes, he is as docile as a lamb. Here, his blood works and health check-ups for the last year." "Ah, I see, good," the clerk said in relief. "Many forget these. Mmm, yes, that looks in order. So, what interesting new duties do you have in mind for your husband, Ms. Henderson?" "Oh, that door is wide open. There are many options available. He's merely not to lose his tongue—I don't care much about the rest." "I see, Ma'am. Great!" Adam felt a cold shiver running down his back, making the hair on his neck stand up. His dearest wife still held him as before, by his pierced cock. She moved even closer. "I know you, husband," Carol said. "I know you better than you know yourself. Trust me on this." Then whispered, "If you want to still be useful, after our party's changes, this is the only way." Adam's fear-riddled eyes and struggling seemed to suggest otherwise. His packed and silenced mouth tried every trick but nothing came loose. Completely ignoring her wide-eyed husband, Carol admitted to the office lady, "Is this all making you as flustered as me or has it become routine by now?" Carol's face was somewhat healthy looking. He didn't like that! "What's routine about this?" the other woman said keenly. "It has its perks you could say! And yes, I love it! It gives me purpose to process 'them'." Adam wasn't quite sure what she meant. She surely had to process females as well. Or did she have a score to settle with men? Both women giggled in front of him as only women could (after having found out they had been right all along). Adam had turned limp in the frame. His muscles ached too much. He involuntarily struggled again when Carol's index finger played absentmindedly with his thick glans ring. She always loved to do that during 'inspection time'—when she had him hanging in the middle of their playroom like a helpless baby. Teasing him had become one of her mischievous specialties. He was struck with intense memories of when she had often tried to drive him insane with his unattained lust. He loved nothing more by now than the somewhat cool touch of her slender and determined hand. It was better than the alternative: the dull inside of his steel tube. It was only the rare occasion for him to still feel that external pleasure; the internal being the captivating servitude to Carol, and immensely enjoyable as well. For his tamed masculinity and his pent-up and endless condition, it seemed the natural solution to relieve some of that pressure. It was hard to explain when the weeks of unfulfilled arousal gave him those peculiar rushes of hot and cold, of pain, denial, and fulfillment through an outer framework of existence, Carol's discipline. Today's unlocking seemed familiar: his frustrating tube was off, he, restrained, and she stood in front of him as usual. He could almost smell it on her, his Mistress's horniness, from her flushed cheeks to the attention her hand was giving him. 23 days ago since she had last made him cum (at least, according to her frustrating way of counting. The number was still not quite right.) Adam could no longer remember when he had experienced his last true orgasm under her care. She always had her ways of spoiling it, of making him feel pain or frustration. And never did she deliver him true satisfaction. Only when she had fully satisfied her dominant cravings through him, did she lock his hated tube back on his aching cock. It had been many years since he had been inside her. Her hand squeezed again, hard, massaging his broken cock. She remained intimately close and a sweat-soaked Adam couldn't help but finally avert his eyes from hers, only stare at her lovely chest for a while before trying to see his still shriveled manhood in her hand. He couldn't. Worse, it turned him on that she had broken his cock (though, incapable of displaying it any longer). "Clench your plug for me," she said in a breathy voice. Like a well-trained dog, he did in an instant. She liked that. Hot flashes of arousal mixed in with his roller coaster of emotions. His fists twitched, his mouth chewed on the thick gag, and his plug wouldn't stop twitching below. She had him under her complete control. Her lovely face was now equally flushed and Adam could feel her heartbeat. Her chest was pinned against his. "I want him chaste for the full three-year contract," Carol breathed sweetly. Somehow he had known, and let out a sigh of frustration, or tried to. If he didn't know any better, she had just come? It was a futile struggle against her mind-boggling beauty. She, in turn, enjoyed it to the fullest, his slow realization. He caught himself feeling rather detached about her suggestion, as if the appendage between his legs was no longer his to have, either way. Her hand, still resting on his limp cock, only underlined this apparent point. "Orgasms denied, no orgasm for three years, got it," the office lady repeated. "Only anal penetration," Carol added lustily, "but no penile stimulation whatsoever for the whole duration of his contract. Can this be arranged?" "Uh, that poor boy!" the clerk said, then giggled. "That can certainly be arranged for your husband, Ms. Henderson. We have just the right long-term, proven-and-tested device for this task here at the Ministry. It can handle any horny male." "Oh, is that the one that's sensing and can interfere?" Carol said eagerly. "I've read about it somewhere. Will it truly keep him frustrated for me?" "Yes, we call it 'The Good Girl'. It's a very sleek and plain-looking tube and can last a lifetime." His wife's hand left Adam gasping. With his familiar tube removed, he hung helplessly in front of her. By now, and when stuck in this situation in front of her, it had become a conditioned response to expect stimulation and teasing. Only her strap-on was missing (and he was embarrassingly aware that he was still limp in her hand no matter what). "You seem to have your husband under perfect control," the clerk said somewhat astonished. "Lots of training, on my part," Carol said with a proud smile. "The Good Girl," the clerk continued, "can monitor a slave's arousal—any buttfucking is perfectly fine, leaking is also permitted, even healthy—just any penile build-ups get shocked and paralyzed by its watchful sensors. I wouldn't wanna be in his shoes!" "Me neither!" Carol said and they both laughed about the absurd predicament awaiting the restrained male in the room. "His long-term chastity device would be surcharged to his duration," the clerk said as if having said it a million times. "With our federal interest rate of 6%, it would incur two extra months on his contract. The slave is also pledged as collateral to secure the loan. Does that sound fair and agreeable to you, Ms. Henderson?" "It certainly sounds fair to me. Agreed," Carol said with an odd sense of triumph. She gave Adam a sly smile once he realized it too: He would have to work extra months just to stay pent-up and chaste for her pleasures. "It has been a long time since you've become hard, hasn't it?" Her hand wouldn't let go of his member. He loved her intimate attention. Now more than ever, he wished and tried to grow hard again in her warm, playful hand. "I was considering the full bimbo transformation for him, at first." "Ooh," the office lady said, bouncing excited on the tips of her heels. "Our complete male-to-female transformation is very popular with the lesbian crowd. Most buyers thrive on the humiliation this causes the male." 'Male-to-female transformation? What!?' Adam flinched at those words but could only chew with a tense jaw and taste more of that old, nasty rubber in his mouth. "I had heard it makes the chaste males so much gentler," Carol said, "when their cock and balls have vanished after the surgery. A PAM friend of mine had told me all about it after she had subjected her husband to the procedure. The thought makes me rather hot!" 'She definitely hadn't told him anything about this!' Adam fumed, struggling in disbelief. "Yes, I heard it makes them much more conscious once they're suddenly stuck in a woman's body," the office lady said. She couldn't stifle a giggle with her hand. Both women exchanged looks at the thought, then laughed. They gleefully observed Adam's stifled reaction. In reality, Adam screamed wide-eyed! All that struggling made him clench his thick and locked buttplug only harder, then try and spit out his nasty gag, or pull his dick back out of his wife's insidious, warm hand. None of this worked of course. It was as if he was nailed to the floating steel frame—or trapped in a bad dream that became worse by the minute. His Carol wasn't spiteful and cruel, was she? "Would you like that, Adam?" Carol asked, leaning even closer against him. Her other hand brushed up along his bare chest until it reached his pierced nipple. "Some big slave tits to play with? Only your former big cock will shrink to nothingness. Not that a little clitty wouldn't look cute on you." And her lower hand pulled on his cock ring as if his member was detachable. Carol had a sick and diabolical sparkle in her eyes. "And those..." Carol said and her cock-pulling hand switched from gripping his little limp appendage to encircling his balls with a firm grip, "have to go, of course!" Carol pulled as hard as she could. "Slave girls don't have balls." Adam's body tensed and trembled. "Maybe you'll be happy with a nice, big, wet slit where your proud masculinity once sat." Carol had her husband kicking and screaming in an instant, or, with the hidden talent of being his Mistress for so many years. "We could do that," the clerk said happily. "Shall I check that mark in his slave file as one of the permitted options?" Carol was taking her time in thinking it over, staring at him, absorbing his panicked fright as if it was nourishment to her. It seemed like she was getting more aroused by the minute, if Adam had to take a wild guess. 'She wouldn't do this to him... would she!?' He screamed again but the large gag prevented him from producing anything more than pitiful, muffled moans. The two dressed women standing in front of him could talk without interruption. "Put it down as one of the available options," Carol said keenly. "What other slave modifications are there?" That's when Adam realized how serious she was. Tears formed in his eyes, from the pain of her hand, and the very idea that he could become a she under her far-reaching hand. "How about extreme anal or vaginal stretching?" the clerk asked. "Both fine by me." "Check," the clerk said. "Say," Carol interrupted and with a subtle and husky impatience in her voice, "when do you mark him with his official slave ID?" Her cheeks had flushed. Now, this might look cute on a pretty woman, but Adam knew better. It was merely her sadistic half getting the better of her. "Oh, usually later on, after his inspection. But, if you like, we can do it right now, Ma'am." "That would be great," Carol said and her nostrils flared. It filled Adam with more fear, awe, and a new level of blank vulnerability in front of her. She managed to make him feel small and unassertive. "Certainly, here, take this," the clerk said and gave Carol a large pistol-shaped device. "It's a laser-tattoo pistol. You only have to hold it in place over the spot, then press the trigger to leave an embossed tattoo with his slave number. It should last for ten years before renewal of the mark becomes necessary again. It's such a reliable way to mark your property for good before you'll send it off." "Cool!" Carol said, sounding equally enthusiastic and inspecting the odd device in her hand. Only the gagged and restrained male seemed to want to say a word or two about this. Carol knelt down in front of him, and before he knew it, a burning fire spread right above his cock and across his shaved groin. The seconds froze in time before the worst of the pain passed. But he knew, Carol had left her mark on him. "Well, uhm, we usually mark it somewhere else, Ma'am," the clerk said somewhat tentatively. "Oh, really?" Carol reappeared from between his legs with a big grin. "Where should I mark him?" Carol had left her mark just where she liked it: his forever-shaven groin. The pain from the device was serious, dissipating only slowly like a hot, searing iron had left its mark. For the next iteration, Adam was somewhat more composed. Carol disappeared behind him. The device touched the back of his neck. Deep within his skin, its burning fire erupted again, leaving him with her second gift. Adam screamed and twitched, unable to hold still. Now he knew why the frame had an opening along the neck. Carol had left a vile burn below his hairline. Her soft hand caressed his tender neck but was careful not to touch his fresh mark; he was glad she didn't. His Slave ID was positioned so any future collar wouldn't hide it. Naturally, it left her chaste husband stuck with a shiver of unobtainable arousal, distracting and unwanted, yet overwhelming for the moment. His cock had still forsaken him. His wife came back into view, clearly proud of herself. "That's my mark, in case we don't see each other again, Adam." 'Why..why wouldn't they?' Adam tried saying with a blurred vision, feeling somewhat dizzy. He wondered how big his official mark of ownership really was, because it felt huge. "Perfect," the clerk said, "that should do." It seemed big enough for her. All he could do was clench his rear companion and chew on his oversized pacifier. His eyes, his whole face felt soaked but he could do nothing about it in front of his gloating wife and that innocent-looking Ministry woman. Carol let out a gentle moan. Her hand tenderly held his cheek, caressing it like only a loving Mistress could—after having hurt him. Judging by the color of her face, Adam guessed his naughty wife might have her wireless Vibro panties with her again (they were very discreet). She must have worn them all along! How could he convince her that this was a bad idea? If the whole situation aroused her so much—of lending him out like a woman's toy—he was fucked. Yet, there was her soft, warm hand resting on his cheek and it made all his fear go away in a flash. Still, Adam wanted to beg her, beseech her to reconsider, but even that right she denied him. "You'll serve someone well, I'm sure. And I hope they'll smooth some of those rough edges over and make you more malleable and useful if you're still recognizable in a few years." The fading but euphoric pain in his body calmed him somewhat. His muscles relaxed for the first time. His body couldn't keep up the tension. The slow realization that it was now too late for struggling tried to invade his mind. "Also, I never want him to wear a single article of clothing during his three years." "That's not a problem for a male slave, Ma'am, but I'll make an extra note." "Good, good," Carol said. "I want him leased out completely hairless. I just love it when I see those bald, subjugated slaves... doesn't matter if it's a boy or girl." "The permanent dehairing procedure for slaves, Ma'am?" "Yes." Carol's hand moved affectionately through her husband's short hair. "I might not recognize you in a few years, husband. Good thing I marked you as mine." Adam looked devastated and stared blankly into Mistress's cold, hard eyes. He had to get used to it—he had to, because they wouldn't give him any choices (the system waiting behind the tracks). "Ma'am, we also have extra modifications available for toilet slaves, if that's something you're interested in?" the office lady said now with a glow. "A piss drinker?" Carol said. She evaluated her sweating husband carefully. "My husband is familiar with those duties, aren't you?" Adam remembered the salty taste of humiliation when she forced him to drink from her body. In the right mood, it was somewhat arousing. But drinking it constantly? "Excellent," the clerk said, "so that shouldn't be a problem then?" "Not a problem for him." "Toilet slave, check," the clerk said. "Which brings us to the more exotic four-legged options." 'She can't be serious!?' Adam's body shook suddenly as his stomach dropped. Carol watched him intently. She gave a sudden gasp and her hips twitched faintly, the rest of her beautifully dressed body remained perfectly composed. Adam couldn't believe they were really talking about this. 'Nonononon...' "They often shorten the toilet slaves, too," the clerk said, "so their service compartments can fit in most bathrooms." "That sounds very handy," Carol said. "though, I was thinking about getting a female replacement for my pussylicker here, from the market... in a year or so." "Slaves of lower stock, or used ones, are getting somewhat affordable, Ma'am," the clerk said. "Anyways, thanks to modern medicine, pet slaves have become more common as you know. Keep in mind that any limb-shortening will not only be a permanent procedure but a permanent demotion for your husband. They can only do so much without their hands and feet." "I know..." Carol breathed. "Still... his services to, and under me, have earned him a few choices. If my Adam gets demoted, it should be by his own undoing." "May I then suggest our Progressive Disciplining System?" the office lady said proudly. Adam tried to swallow but his mouth had become dry and fused with the rubber. "Yes," Carol said. "Let's go over those options again... Yes, I like that idea." "On a monthly basis, his new owner can freely judge his performance." "That's fair." Adam tried shaking his head wide-eyed. "First, what should be his reward?" Carol observed him carefully while thinking it through. "If he was a good slave boy, he should get a chance to service a slave pussy, or someone should give him the strap-on. After three impeccable months of service, he can have the extreme anal stretching perk started as a reward for his hard toils." "A great choice, Ma'am," the clerk said. Adam didn't like where this was going! Any sensation was better than none, and it wouldn't be punishment for him, not with such a long and cruel chastity term awaiting him. He still couldn't fathom that 'that' awaited him. She had hit the mark, he had to admit. Adam had come to crave his ever-present plug more than ever. Carol made dead sure her husband wouldn't work towards some ill-advised funishment (an intentional punishment, to tickle his submissiveness; or, an attempt to top from the bottom). She understood him by now a little too well! The years had taught her. "Let's go over his punishments then," Carol said with a cold smile. 'Was that all!?' Adam thought. He gave another desperate, muffled scream. There was no winning for him, was there? Only duty and submission waited at the end of his contract. He wished he was back home again to serve his wife better than ever before! "What he doesn't like at all is ball-busting, not when they're that blue," Carol said. "Best with a paddle or trampled under a heel." The clerk's face glowed and beamed at Carol. "And as the first permanent warning, Ma'am, what can be changed on his body?" "Hmm, take his teeth away. He doesn't need them to offer a good service, nor does a slave have anything of interest to say, if you ask me." Adam subconsciously wanted to move his tongue over his familiar teeth, but stopped, as soon as he realized how stupid the attempt was. "Good choice, Ma'am. And should his performance become even more unsatisfactory?" "After three months, his further owner is permitted to permanently demote him with one of the available options from the slave contract." Carol's sadistic eyes beamed at him as if she wanted nothing better than to, to dismantle and rebuild him to her liking! "Noted, Ma'am. Next: the slave law. In case your slave turns aggressive towards any owner or slave property, or attempts to run away from its leaseholder, what should be its appropriate punishment for its crimes? And, I have to remind you that its punishment has to be in accordance, or greater, with the most current law at the time of its crime," the clerk said more solemnly. Adam couldn't stop trembling. Carol came closer at the abhorrent suggestion that her husband could commit any such crimes. The warmth of her slender body pressed against him. Her soft chest touched his, pinning his mind with a feminine chokehold. Not only did he feel her smooth and suddenly exposed thigh from under her fancy dress, but her warm, slender leg seductively rubbed his balls. Her powerful stare was unbearable and Adam broke eye contact. Her soft hands wouldn't let go of his face and gag strap, caressing it, then traveling lower along his perfectly restrained and moaning, shivering body. Her sadistic arousal had gotten the better of her! He could do nothing to stop her for the moment. He could never disappoint her like a criminal. Either way, he knew better. She only made certain of his slavish education. "Should my silly husband ever dare to run away, I will permit his complete castration. Adam, I don't want you to even think about running away. This will make certain you'll bite through. I know how much you value your two marbles. But the world is changing around you and you'll soon be a relic of the past." Her powerplay, her sudden coup d'etat, drove him horny and fearful all at once. A dizziness held him. In a flash, he remembered again her endless teasing sessions at night when he struggled himself to exhaustion until he hung from his chains. In his current state of long-term orgasm denial, Adam could barely endure the odd absence of his hard and rigid tube. Good thing he was restrained, because he couldn't trust himself any longer not to touch himself and defy his Mistress's rule. His wife gently touched his cock, stroking him. He trembled under her hand, from a mix of unbearable arousal and blank fear. She had him sexually willing with a snap of her fingers. Sadly though, his little cock remained shrunken and the perfect size to still fit in his tube. It was the most wonderful sensation to be owned and controlled by her will. And while his broken penis was still free, it was the second best sensation to feel her warm, eager hand stroking along his treasured jewel. Her exquisite attention tested the frame's mettle because she continued to do just that to him. And with the same snap of her fingers, she had him tensing, pulling, and squirming with a sexual madness. "Yes, I know," she breathed in his ear, "it has been so long for you, husband." He could feel her body's mind-boggling warmth as he struggled like a ferocious animal. Her hand stopped its caressing. His sexual built-up wanted to burst free but she seemed to know his body a little too well. "The notion of keeping you chaste for the next three years of your slave duties will surely keep me wet on many an occasion." Adam struggled with himself. His stupid cock just wouldn't respond in kind, wouldn't get hard, wouldn't give her something big to hold on to and make him feel his old masculinity again. After a safety pause, in which she watched his cock's lifeless attempt to respond, she spat in her hand and began stroking him in earnest. "Just work hard and please any woman who asks it of you. Doesn't matter if she likes to whip you or get her pussy sucked. Do you understand?" Her hand froze. Adam tried grunting, wide-eyed. His soaked body was in no position to acknowledge or contradict her wishes. After a pause that left him nervous, she continued again with her pleasant ministrations. "When we see each other again in a few years, I think I'll continue teasing you. The very thought of it-" She paused. "It's too much fun keeping you juuust away from the edge. You know how wet that makes me for you?" Under her intimate reign, Adam had become irrational with a blindness. The big gag in his mouth had become satisfying, nurturing, while the beefy slave plug in his asshole continued to keep him filled and horny for so much more, clenching it like it was her usual strap-on's extension. "But who knows, maybe my plans to buy myself a real slave girl will make you unnecessary?" She knew perfectly how to press all his buttons and make him sweat; not his feeble struggle but his wife's cravings made the heavy frame gently sway. "But no cumming for you today, sweetie, nor tomorrow..." And her warm hand disappeared for good. Not long, and he'd have to wear something more permanent, or worse... At that thought, Adam grunted and moaned like a rabid, deranged beast. Someone's hand was looking for his buttplug. She had reached around. Carol gave his thick slave plug a few hard pulls. Her restrained husband twitched without a choice. It wouldn't, it couldn't come out, not when his slave plug was active and inflated to its full size. Naturally, its electric lock engaged. It made him clench the thick, dilating device as if it was no longer his body. It was no pleasant sensation when his ever-present plug made him twitch. It left an ache. Carol was done with him, and his sweat-soaked body trembled from head to foot from the denied arousal. The patience she had shown with his training had paid more than off, leaving her similarly excited. Carol wiped her hand on his chest and granted him some breathing room again. The trouble was, even though he knew she would never give him his maddening release, he still wished for her cruel hand on his cock. "His future leaseholder will have my permission to take his cock and nuts. Not that he'll dare." "Very good, Ma'am," the clerk said with a flushed face. She must have watched silently. "But Ma'am? There's one slight problem I'm just noticing." "What?" Carol said in surprise. "It's legal, isn't it?" "Of course! No, I was thinking about a possible scenario: suppose your slave underperforms for three straight months, and its owner picks the full bimbofication option-" she said, paused, and pressed her notepad against her chest. "Naturally, your slave's contract will be extended so it can pay off its surgery costs. But then, it decides to run away, gets captured again by the Robo-police, yet there won't be any nuts left to take from her..." Adam listened while he chewed on his gag. His mouth hurt already from its size. All that stuff would never affect him. Why were they still talking about all this? "Oh," Carol said rather flustered, "Quite right. Then take his pleasant slave pussy away from him again." The clerk giggled as if it was funny. Nothing about this was funny to Adam. "So I take it you mean complete infibulation and nullification?" the clerk asked. "Removal of all pleasant parts..." "You'll have my permission, yes." Adam could only stare hazily at his resolute wife. He was perpetually stuck with a deep longing from the power she wielded over him. Stupid as it was, it only made him want to worship her more for her determination! Yet, a feeble voice in his head wondered if he wouldn't be better off with another Mistress? "Still," the clerk said, "As you know, our open policy highly recommends the neutering procedure right away for males, or at least, at the very first sign of aggression. Chemical neutering is still an available and less invasive opti-" "I'm aware," Carol said sternly. "Let's leave it as one of the available punishment options for him, depending on his monthly performance record." "Of course, Ma'am. Very good." Adam wanted to give a sigh of relief but his wife's hand firmly held and squeezed 'his' balls while they talked in a casual tone. "We do however have a few more options available, Ma'am," the clerk said keenly. "The total pet transformation is one of the more severe but popular ones for difficult slaves. It's a mix of permanent nano-medicine and surgery. And with a quick recovery least, physically." The office lady couldn't stop smirking at Adam and staring at his naked body. "They would amputate his legs just above the knees, then shorten his arms accordingly to make him a good four-legged pup, kitten, or something of the kind. They'll also lower his IQ by default and change his vocal cords—if I remember right—but it's a proven technique and all part of the package, of course. It certainly stops them from running away again for good." Carol's pretty brown eyes held on to him. "I'm fine with that, too," she said. 'What? That was quick!' Adam thought, still half in shock. He was a mess. The mere thought of becoming something as lowly as a mentally impaired and neutered pet in some foreign woman's household lay beyond his wildest imagining. And how could he still be of use to his Carol after all those... transformations—being stuck on four short legs like a poor bitch! "The cost of such changes is of course added to the contract lease. He will have to work them off as usual, while you won't have to lift a finger, Ma'am." "Good, good," Carol said smugly, spacing out for a moment at the thought. The clerk didn't bother to mention the exact total this would add to Adam's slave contract. 'Probably another 6 months?' he guessed hazily. His wife would be well off from leasing him out and any mistakes on his part would naturally come out of his pockets. She probably saw the potential modifications by now as necessary and justified, should he truly be stupid enough to earn them. He certainly wouldn't. The possible reality of it all had cleared Adam's frightened mind somewhat. He had no intention of becoming her neutered lapdog. He didn't want to lose her for anything in the world and he'd do all these things just for her, just to get back on her good side, one day. Though he dreaded the prospect of failing her, now more than ever. The clerk handed Carol all of Adam's former cuffs, chains, and lastly, his polished tube back. She, in turn, placed them all carefully in her purse (a spacious handbag). Adam struggled again in his frame, not quite willing to do any of this voluntarily, but solely through her will. "And that is all from the checklist, Ms. Henderson. If you'll sign here for your husband, I can ship him off to the Slave Evaluating 'n Processing gals." "Great," Carol said. "I like how thorough you are here!" Adam would miss her scent, her touches, and all her sadistic peculiarities. He remained rigidly upright and gagged while his dearest wife signed the digital document of his slave contract without hesitation. "Excellent," the clerk said. "His 3-year lease contract started as of today, 15:13." "Goodbye, Husband," Carol said. "I will occasionally check on you and see how you're doing—well actually, the performance record in your slave file. I'm curious to see if you'll earn yourself any of those nasty penalties. You better behave. There's no way out for you." Adam gave a stifled grunt and shook. His restrained limbs wouldn't move an inch. His eyes were deranged. Even though he knew it was for the best, his nerves weren't up to the task. With the push of a button by the keen clerk, the sturdy frame began to float away with him on the rail. It barely made a sound and easily hid the weight it was carrying. Adam would not see his wife again for a long time.
They kept Adam, like a thousand others who were on sale, in small prison cells, officially termed 'slave compartments': white plastic-laminated cells, lightly padded and heavily soundproofed. One wall of such a slave compartment was thick plexiglass, forming part of the outside corridor. The cell was not tall enough to let its inhabitant stand (only permit crawling), and neither was it very spacious inside. He found out the hard way that they expected him to sleep in it, too. The entire facility was devoid of guards. It operated independently and fully autonomously; safe slave storage was similar to prisons, but much more profitable—and they could use the same economical AI tech to monitor every aspect of their life. In this lifeless system, Adam had become a naked number: S01F0224901, or #901, his official slave ID—from now on for the rest of his life. 'S' stood for slave (they used the same format for livestock, too). '01' meant that he was still an initial slave from the first wave or decade. 'F' defined a slave's quality, ranging from A to F, but males could only classify as F. When he had still been helplessly fastened to a slave frame, every hole of his body had been meticulously measured, probed, stretched, and recorded in his slave file. The tender spots on his body still ached, his hands were still stuck in the thick plastic mittens, and his crotch shone with its new long-term chastity tube. It was slave-hardened and had his number engraved on it; the same number he could feel above his bare crotch. He had read stories about this device and had dreaded the moment he'd have to wear a real one for Mistress. At least for him, this tube was permanent—it had no visible locks and looked seamless. He'd either lose his cock or he'd have to wear his new tube for the rest of his life. However, it didn't stop him from fantasizing about Carol in his neverending lust, thanks to her. Not that his hands were any good. #901 also knew that any pleasant build-ups from anal penetration, any rectally induced orgasms from getting fucked, would eventually be paralyzed and impeded by his new watchful tube. No more teasing. The thought was devastating to his submissive cravings. Not long ago, she had played with him, had touched him, had brought him close... Bored senseless in his spartan compartment, his tensions just wouldn't ease. Before they had attached his tube, the female staff had outfitted him with his official and seamless slave collar. It felt snug around his throat and had a weight to it. His limb's freedom remained limited but not only by his cell. His 5-point chain clanked whenever he moved. It ran from his yet flawless slave collar down to his wrists, then further to his chained ankles. They were as snug as his old ones, only a somewhat heavier version, and the weight kept reminding him he was no longer at home. Even in his slave compartment, they hadn't freed him of his bondage. It left him worried. Absentmindedly, he kept on brushing with his plastic-covered hands over his perfectly bald slave scalp. He could feel very little through the plastic, or from the bare skin on his skull. Now he had truly become one, one of those sorry male slaves. They must have forgotten about his gag. A different one was still stuck in his mouth and, by now, had his jaw aching. Nothing he had tried had loosened it. Usually, he didn't sleep with a gag; now, it seemed he had to. No one had asked or checked on him. Occasionally, the thick plexiglass wall depolarized and he could see out. Opposite his box were only empty ones, but a row above, he could see two bald females. When it happened, it was a delightful distraction. He stared at their nakedness without inhibition. One didn't like his looks, while the other girl stared back with the same hungry eyes. They were just as chained, gagged, bald, and miserable looking as he felt. For entertainment, his compartment's back wall had a display embedded behind thick glass. A slave luxury, you might think? No. Twice a day, for 1 hour, it displayed either boring TV shows, commercials, or instructionals about slave etiquette—with a soothing, female voice from which it was hard to escape. With so much boredom at his hands, whenever the screen turned on, his attention immediately focused on the flickering square, drawing him in like a moth to the flame. The distraction managed to ease his mind somewhat, despite all his worries. The tiny slave compartment was warmly lit, comforting in a way. It also provided valves for his body; they weren't inhumane after all. One protruding valve would squirt fresh water through his gag; another would feed him some sort of dull-tasting slave gruel; and the third, which was arranged a little too close for comfort to the others, was for defecating. With his asshole still plugged (and locked), he couldn't defecate on his own; however, it would keep his modest slave compartment very clean. (At least, he had thought so.) What was completely new to Adam was a feature his Mistress had never used. Twice a day, a sensation between his buttocks would startle him. A deep rumbling like a buzzer quickly turned, for every 5 seconds of idling, into ever more painful electric shocks. After 20 seconds, every slave who wore a slave plug quickly became convinced and complied. Painful and invasive, the shocks lessened only if he approached the valve panel with his rear (not that someone had felt the need to tell him how it worked). Not the water valve for drinking, nor the close-by food valve, but the one beside it now worked and connected to his, by then, bulging slave plug. There was a click, and he was stuck to the wall with his impaled asshole. It was an odd sensation but even weirder was the deep enema shooting into him, painfully bloating his entire insides without a choice. It made him feel like a machine or a naked animal on a meat farm. To his surprise, it then released him from the wall while still in pain, now with a bulging colon. His slave plug made him retain the foreign water, and its pressure. He could expel neither enema nor plug. It made him regret some of his submissive choices. This humbling discomfort, Adam had to endure for random amounts of time. Besides, there was no one to talk to or beg. Like all the other proud and involuntary wearers of a rectal slave plug, he desperately tried opening its valve just the same. He rubbed his mittened hands over it as if his ass was on fire. But that's all he managed to do. It did not free him, or any other occupant, from their rectal dilemma. Only the familiar female voice (from the instructional videos) did, and she provided him with a number. She called the rounds he had to crawl in order for the valve on the wall to activate again, only then would its lock engage again with his bulging plug; in between his dictated rounds, he had tried like many others to reattach his digestive tract with the wall again but nothing would lock together or ease his belly's bloated suffering. Twice a day, he was subjected to this special slave entertainment of growing rectal shocks and forced enemas. Suffice to say, the sanitary conditioning of his plug worked wonders. Emptying his bladder, though, was a different matter. To his dismay, there was no pissoir or floor toilet he could use. After a while of struggling and keeping it in, he simply peed himself. He watched glumly as his urine shot out of the end of his seamless steel tube. There on the soft, white plastic floor, it slowly formed into a puddle around his leg, then ran to the sides of his undersized slave compartment. From the borders, it slowly dripped dejectedly away into some nowhere. It was the worst way to piss. His mittened fists didn't help, nor did kneeling on all fours. Nothing brought him any satisfactory result. (There was no shaking it off or dabbing the last drops with toilet paper either.) He thought often about his Carol during this time. Once a day, a high-pressure stream of soapy but barely lukewarm water cleansed not only the filthy floor of his box but him as well. That sudden process always startled him (it was worse when he slept). Shortly after, hot, dry air roared, but turned into the best moment of his day. Its warm embrace was blissful, like a cozy blanket to his otherwise total nakedness. Well, until the next time he couldn't hold it in any longer. Eventually, he had to wallow in his own filthiness like a naked pig. There were no choices for its occupants. The compartments were primarily designed for efficient slave storage, just humane enough—not slave hotels. Such a white box also subdued its collared inhabitant psychologically and prepared it. Long-term inmates who didn't sell would crave a future Mistress but also relish the little freedom a slave life would provide, outside their boxes. A certain kind of buyer was interested only in slaves who had aged at least six months in their boxes. It was a safety threshold that would guarantee permanent, submissive changes. Its owner only had to own the same box at home. And every few months, such a subjugated slave would be put back in for a few days, to reinforce its mental effects. It was highly efficient, but only utilized by owners who had no patience or pleasure for basic slave breaking. Boxed slaves had their profiles listed on the digital market and potential buyers could watch a live feed of each box (no privacy laws applied to slaves). Verified customers could even talk to these old and new slaves firsthand and see how well they responded to commands. For a small extra fee, potential customers could even gain access to a slave's basic control panel. After a few days of waiting (and Adam guessed it had been days by now), he still didn't know if he had been sold. (He had been.) But potential customers could always pay the little extra fee and offset the slave's storage cost. Occasionally, that happened. An unfamiliar voice would ring from all corners, surrounding its collared occupant like a superhuman being. Sometimes they even showed their faces on screen, but often Adam had to stare at an anonymous default avatar. Many women didn't like men and were straight-up men haters, to Adam's dismay. "I said get on your back and masturbate like a good pup, haha!" A few instant shocks of pain jolted through Adam's hairless body before he could even react. How he wished he could just expel his thick slave plug! Besides the pain, he was terribly horny; of course, he complied. It was an annoying female voice, young and impatient. But Adam was a good slave. He already lay on his back, legs pulled up and spread to the camera, and with his silly mittens, he rubbed his steel tube as if there was none! Carol had conditioned him well to respond without hesitation, sometimes to the silliest of commands. The stench of his old, filthy piss enveloped and consumed him and had crept into every little crevice of his hairless and stinking body. It hadn't been cleaning time yet, nor had any of his many virtual visitors seen fit for him to be hosed down. He was popular. Adam, not knowing if the next woman would be his future owner, jumped on every whim of the many women's wishes. After 5 minutes or so, the default avatar disappeared from his screen, and Adam tentatively stopped masturbating his rigid tube, never quite sure if it was over yet? It was. Until the next nasty customer decided to spend some money on him. Many women sneered and laughed at his appearance. Most were cruel. Some wanted their pussy worshiped, and he had to lick the screen while their pussy filled out the display. The dejection and humiliation he felt by now were undeniable. But no sexual distractions or relief were in sight. He was more than stuck. Other browsing customers enjoyed physical worship. They had Adam groveling and nodding to any of their commands (the gag in his stuffed mouth made replying unnecessary). Even others got off at filling him up. They were the worst! When the cramps of the water made him feel sick, they gleefully watched Adam while he begged them with a red and pain-riddled face. There was no escape from his plug, it was either or—either groveling and begging them like a filthy, well-trained animal (to get rid of the visceral pain) or suffering for them like a slave. Everything happening to him was beyond his cruelest fantasies or imagination. From young to old, women straight up abused him through the screen. After his fake masturbation session, Adam turned on his side and curled himself into a ball, trying hard not to cry again. He knew his dysfunctional cock was somewhere in there, held by the thick, unmoving piercing lock. Only, he felt not a shiver of a life sign coming through his new high-security tube. (The naked women in the adjacent compartments were no better off.) Carol would be very proud, knowing how thorough the Ministry was with him and all its slaves. #901 lay confronted by the naked truth of slavehood, or its intimate beginnings. Adam wondered in his locked-away misery if Carol was already too busy with their maid to still think about him. Or did she have the TV on at dinner as his live feed played? The mere thought gave him comfort, at least, before the next virtual visitor looked through his file, watched, or got off at humiliating him. The rather sensitive data of his slave file was now public record, from the date of his last orgasm to the automated triggers that made him horny, to the current size of his worn slave plug. At the Ministry, its employees worked like a very complicated but precise clock. They weren't in any particular hurry to rush their bureaucratic calculations. The official working philosophy was to take your time and do it right. Mistakes over valuable goods could turn expensive, as well as result in the wrongful enslavement of healthy citizens! A slave could wait, and Adam was reasonably well stored and cared for during this period. Of course, he had been promptly leased out to another Mistress, just as the clerk had promised his wife. The Ministry's bureaucracy merely took its time at verifying everything back and forth with his new Proprietrix (his owner for the time being). The verification of monthly payments into a trust, his medical documentation, legal slave documents, etc., only happened during office hours at the Ministry.
The months passed slowly for Adam. During his ordeal, a lot changed outside, though barely noticed by the now fully enslaved #901. Many women leased him out. Some used him merely as a chained and naked curiosity in their house, a male gimmick they could show off to their friends. He had become a verbal punching bag (mostly verbal). Until the novelty wore off and they sent him back to the market, with its now familiar and claustrophobic boxes. The contempt all these women had in store took its mental toll on Adam. And when his fourth Mistress seemed implacable and inconsolable, he had lost the battle, and with it, all his teeth. It had been the first time Carol's 'Progressive Disciplining System' had come into effect. That Mistress had given him a nice warm, wet hole without a choice. Talking, well, replying to commands really, had become humiliating without his teeth. In some odd way, it felt like his current (and fourth) owner had pulled his claws. When her domineering thighs demanded its many orgasms each and every day, he felt reduced to a hole with a tongue. His chained and bald state did the rest to crush his remaining dignity. Not that his fourth Mistress had bought him as a pussy slave, but she either didn't care or was too horny to give a fuck about his rank. His chaste tongue held a particular attraction on her, it seemed. Adam's imagination was still lacking because many more horrible demotions and duties awaited bad slaves, particularly, bad slave boys. His next owner, after (and at first he was glad he was away from that despicable, needy pussy of a woman), required him to receive a gastrointestinal implant. His contract clause required no further permission from his wife as it had already been given during his check-in. It was a popular implant for toilet slaves, and that's what he became under his fifth owner. The very idea that he could now safely digest anything even remotely edible was terrifying. Some dominant women simply loved to see a man in his chains—permanent, long-term slave chains that wouldn't come off again from his naked body, day or night. Even though his fifth Mistress who had leased him out was a petite and pretty Asian woman (and rich at that), her demands beat and surpassed his most submissive cravings by a long shot. By now, Carol's ordered orgasm denial began to make him reach his breaking point. They hadn't been joking about his tube, about the escape- and orgasm-proofed device they so lovingly called "The Good Girl". This time, his slave chains kept his hands cuffed behind his back, with a security chain going up to his collar. Then, a second, longer chain in front went from his collar down to his shackled ankles. When the front chain to his ankles was shortened, he often had to walk stooped, else kneel and wait; standing idly by his Mistress like that wasn't endurable for long. He had also received a leash—a slave girl's leash. When idle, it dangled in front, knocking against his tube; else, it hung from his pierced nipples. Chaste and plugged indefinitely, #901 had to remain always by his new Mistress's side (and his slave chains didn't give him exactly a choice here). The petite woman somewhat scared him. If his default restraints were already so refined and cunning, he didn't want to find out about her punishments. As her trusty human toilet, a default pose was expected of him and which he had to assume in an instant. For some sick reason, this woman exclusively used slaves to empty her bowels and bladder into, and her groin wouldn't, and hadn't, touched any porcelain in years! Talk about snobbery. This was a different class of women altogether. He was the only male in her household. If his petite owner spoke the word 'Toilet!' #901 had to immediately fall on his knees, put his hands on the soles of his feet, and arch his back. In this pose, he had to keep his head back and present his face as a comfy toilet seat to his esteemed Mistress. She loved how his open, wet hole was completely toothless and more than safe to sit on. After such a long and cruel dry period for his locked-away cock, the sudden warm whiff of feeling a woman's skirt on his face was too good to be true! In his unique station as her toilet, Adam gained a very intimate insight into his new Mistress's everyday life. And not just the mere closeness to her panties but he gained involuntary insights into her diet, what she usually liked to eat, and how well her body tolerated its meals. Having her tender weight resting on his entire face was the least of his worries. For a hairless slave like him, it was a blessing: her smooth thighs holding his head, the weight of her warm body on top, and her vulva pressing against his face. It was pure heaven for Adam's dry mouth. Usually, the closer he could be to his Mistress, the more honored and useful he felt. Thanks to Carol's mischievous deeds (a mere eight months ago), he was no longer employed as a body slave. Somehow, he had to survive another 28 months of many more inferior duties. Everything had become overwhelming for his starved male vigor. To sustain him, there were no longer any pleasant cunnilingus duties waiting under his Mistress's panties. He merely was to swallow whatever her petite body excreted into his waiting mouth. His rectal plug helped seal the deal as he became a mere vessel to carry her waste around like a handy mobile toilet. Often, her hot, salty piss would shoot into his toothless mouth; for a few weeks, he could deal with that. But other times, her whole weight pressed from above, and she spread her damp ass cheeks over his face. That's when Adam always tensed up under her innocent skirt. His petite Mistress pressed her puckered asshole over his apparent drain and pushed! The immediate, putrid taste of Mistress's shit entered his waiting mouth and always threatened to make him puke his guts out under her rule. But toilet slaves were punished for such acts and this would count as dereliction of duty; or worse, she'd order him to lick up his mess! His esteemed owner alone picked the hole that needed emptying, not him. Adam chewed on her sausages of vile shit, gagging and fighting his last remaining principles, then swallowing the warm pulp, gobbling it down with his former values. What has he become? Mistress wouldn't even speak to him during her time on him, on her toilet. She merely expected him to sit perfectly still under her while she looked at her phone or continued her work. To her, the situation seemed nothing out of the ordinary, whereas he had to endure the most intimate connection with her body. She made him exist as a filthy receptacle under her supreme rule, and under a new world order. She was much shorter than him and maybe half his weight. To his former self, it might seem preposterous, but one almighty word from her mouth, and he could find himself neutered and forever stuck in a woman's body. So, of course, he fucking swallowed her filthy shit down, obeying her like a brainless toilet! That's all she expected of him, to be her dumb appliance. Her words made that perfectly clear, on the rare occasion that she did speak down to him, either to humiliate or instruct him to lick her groin clean. Somehow he had to survive. By selflessly serving her needs, it turned into one of his most difficult to endure duties. Petite as his perverted Mistress was, she had a knack for towering over him, of growing in size and dominating Adam as no other woman had managed before. Without a personal connection, he now experienced exactly what his wife had in mind for him. Apparently, there was an art to toilet slavery, too: Ideally, and while his squashed face remained stuck between her soft ass cheeks, he had to seal his lips around her tense pucker in order to stop any unpleasant and unseemly odors from escaping her ladyship. Farts were the least of his worries by then, though she had him have those too, just for the fun of it. His mouth had no more teeth left that could get in the way; only his tongue felt highly underutilized and wasted in his new embarrassing employment. As her personal toilet hole (and an expensive one at that), he wasn't just called upon once or twice a day for the fun of it, but her waste collection became his solemn duty, demanded day and night. That was the horrible reality of his new, bald life. Always remaining close by, he also had to watch when, on a similar command, her two naked slave girls ravished Mistress's body like hungry bitches on steroids (the four-legged kind); they were well-trained pleasure slaves, no doubt! Good thing Adam wore his tube. If Mistress would find her girls fraternizing with the toilet, it would spell trouble for all parties involved. So the only intimate and pleasant duty remaining for Adam was to lick Mistress's tender pussy and her smelly asshole squeaky clean after she has dumped her piss and shit into his waiting mouth hole. His tongue was still terribly eager. When he cleaned her asshole deeper than he should, wiggling himself inside her and making her clench, it earned him a slap or the whip. He was deemed too filthy by his duties, and the more pleasant duties of a body slave belonged to her constantly horny sex slaves. The two nymphos kept their distance from him. Maybe it was a common rule of the house, or maybe they were trained to find him repulsive. Only when his Mistress was in meetings or had her sporting activities did her sex slaves use him in turn as their toilet. At this point, Adam was so sex-starved and worn down that he didn't mind the intimate connection. Most of all, he was still fearful of showing any sort of reluctance or early signs of aggression! Such behavior could disqualify him immediately and instead qualify him for the full bimbofication treatment. He dreaded the thought. But the taste of his new scat-swallowing duties did not improve. Nor did his filthy duties get better over the weeks and months. His new petite Mistress saw only one purpose for him. She played dirty, you could say, and something in him constantly rebelled against the very thought of only being Mistress's lowly shit eater.
Almost four long years passed. Adam was about to be returned to his Carol. The familiar doorbell of their house rang. His wife rushed to the door, more than eager to greet her former husband. A delivery woman stood on the doormat. She held a leash that ran down to her feet, through a creature's nose ring, ending on a leathery dog collar. Carol looked in wonder at a very unfamiliar creature. It was naked, short, and had floppy dog ears attached to its bald head. The pup wore a muzzle. It gave a cute bark and wiggled its fluffy, short-haired tail like mad. "Ooh, look at you, Adam!" his wife said sweetly. "Miss," the delivery woman said impatiently, "could you please sign here." It was more a statement than a question. Carol did and was swiftly handed the leash. She led the little thing inside. Its changed body only reached to her knees. She knelt down, feeling butterflies in her stomach after a long time. She no longer held the leash to a slave. The pup seemed elated and wouldn't stop barking excitedly through its muzzle, making the tag on its collar jingle and dance. Carol grabbed the tag for a moment and read: 'KIKI'. The pup's eyes lit up. "Hello, Kiki!" Carol said, beginning to feel just as exuberant. The maid, Megan, was still around and came clacking out on her heels from the kitchen. "Oh look at that cutie!" Megan said. " that really...Adam!?" "Isn't he a cutie?" Carol said. "I wouldn't have recognized him in a million years myself!" Carol touched his naked body and checked for something. "Oooh!" Megan gasped, "he's a bitch now, isn't he!?" "Yeah, he really fucked up the third time," Carol said. "He must have never become very fond of his feminine body, which surprises me, to be honest." The first time he fucked up was when he had lost his teeth for who knows what reason; the second time, when he had been surgically changed to a woman under his scat Mistress (she had a ways of breaking them). They easily handled him, turned his petite and four-legged form around, and looked and touched his non-human body with great curiosity. Carol removed his silly muzzle without a second thought. He had lost a lot of weight and muscle, in addition to his severely shortened limbs. Megan touched his stubby legs, still in utter disbelief. There was not a trace of a scar left on his perfectly smooth stumps. All four of his legs weren't longer than Megan's forearm. "I could probably lift him!" Megan shouted. She stepped over him, groaned, and pulled hard around his narrow waist. She hadn't been wrong when she gave a loud moan. His four stubby legs trod air and lost contact with the familiar floor. The doggy didn't like that; not that Megan could hold him for long, and gently lowered him back down. Carol lifted a commanding finger and said, "SIT, KIKI." Kiki promptly sat on her funny hind legs, spreading them seemingly with no dignity left. Carol fingered the now unattached muzzle. How silly to muzzle him, and yet... the extra humiliation was sort of funny. "Look, Carol, his tube is gone!" Megan said, still perplexed at what exactly they had sitting in front of them. Megan had always loved to tease the impotent Adam for having to wear his tube. Kiki merely panted mindlessly as her long, wet tongue dangled from a corner of her soft mouth hole. Its big tongue bore many piercing studs. Spotting this, Carol felt a sudden jolt running through her body. She touched the long, warm, wet thing and gently pulled at it. There was no danger coming from its mouth anyway. She remembered how her Adam had received his first penalty; though, it seemed a long time ago now. Truth be told, she hadn't felt so eager for many years and had barely managed to wait for 'his' arrival. "Such a cutie," she whispered while caressing its naked body. The reason she had barely recognized him was only in part due to his total pet transformation. Because her hands now held and groped the bitch's thick and heavy breasts below. Carol found herself somewhat stuck in disbelief and wonder at what modern medicine could conjure these days. His large slave tits had been half the reason it had almost taken him four years to get out of his lease. And she hadn't had to pay a single cent for his changes. The new system in place was more than ingenious. Carol fantasized about the many thousands of enslaved husbands who were subjugated to the same fate. Though those men were only a small part of the solution, the rest had disappeared even from the hospitals. The women of this country still had to get pregnant somehow and what better place than to make them disappear in fertility farms. By all accounts, his face looked like that of a bald and broken woman, somewhat familiar, even reasonably attractive had it still had its eyebrows left. Just to be sure, she checked the back of the pet's neck, tracing the pattern of numbers she had left, number ...901. It was Adam's number, no doubt. She lifted the dog on its hind legs, and indeed, there it was, the cruel mark she had left on its still bare crotch almost four years ago. Carol loved the soft warmth and naturalness of Adam's new chest, kneading his fleshy tits with great interest. Its face flushed in turn. Not even her bed slave had such a nice rack! Only their thick nipple rings were identical. Carol noticed only now that from Kiki's rings hung two heavy ball weights. They were marked with the text 'OUTDOORS'. "They really know how to stop you from running anywhere again, huh?" Carol whispered to herself. After about a year, Carol had bought herself a true slave girl, half from Adam's handy income, half by loan (and which was by now paid in full). Her bald slave girl was still chained upstairs in Mistress's bedroom. And yet, Carol's morning orgasms still couldn't alleviate the growing heat she suddenly felt for her neutered bitch. Her curious hands traveled lower on her pup. From Kiki's bulging tits down, her rib cage formed into a narrow, super-feminine waist before its petite body broadened again into big, feminine hips. Carol remembered again in great detail: just a mere year into his lease, and her good-for-nothing Adam, back then, had received his full bimbofication procedure under his scat-loving Mistress. Carol could still not quite believe it. Her former husband had been turned into a slave woman. That's when she had followed the demise of his remaining masculinity with great interest—and had masturbated about 'her' humiliation almost too much for what was good for her! (Though, can you really?) There was no trace left of his former cock and balls. She almost missed teasing them now, but it was for the better, she guessed. Today's laws would soon not permit any 'intact' males left on the streets. Her Adam had become a 'she', with vulva and all, biologically indistinguishable after gen-therapy. He now had all the features he might have had, had he been born a woman. Only his eyes were still somewhat the same; though, they now looked a lot dumber than before. Which gave Carol a thought: She could even induce lactation in those proud tits of his...of hers, if she wanted to. It merely needed a few injections and her bitch would need milking regularly so it wouldn't suffer from its bulging udders. But a complete sex change also meant—and her growing arousal made her fingers prickle as they wandered purposefully lower on the pup's body—that her bitch's vulva must have become an empty one, now sealed. Together with the pet surgery, they had taken that away again. Yet, he must have dared to earn himself that final penalty. The realization, now in the flesh and in front of her very eyes, gave Carol the craziest rush of pleasure. It coursed through her body like the air around her had become hot and cold. At the thought, she almost lost control over her own sadistic perversions: 'She' had done that to him, had freed him of his limitations. "You silly boy! Or should I say girl?" Carol chuckled and padded the pup's fattened buttocks. It enjoyed her touch. Kiki's heavy teats jiggled under her, drawing Carol's trembling fingers towards the pup's shiny nipple rings. Carol could get two fingers through Kiki's heavy rings. They used a heavy gauge so they could carry large weights. Maybe she should remove 'her' outdoor weights now... Their weight paled each painfully stretched nipple, elongating its hole. They merely required two fingers to unsnap its hooks from its rings, but that was no longer something her Adam could accomplish by himself. It required hands and fingers he no longer had. The bitch's eyes lit up when Carol finally removed the torture instruments from its perky tits. Its eyes showed ingenuous gratitude. "For now," she whispered to the bitch. "Until I take you for your walkies." Carol pinched one of those thick nipples, unable to hold back any longer. Kiki instantly let out a cute whine. Carol watched gleefully as Kiki's reduced brain had trouble keeping up. Her teats were just as sensitive as any woman's. Probably her last erogenous zone left, Carol thought. It made her wonder. "Are you still in there, Adam?" she whispered to the pup. No reaction. Megan seemed fascinated by the furry tail that wouldn't stop sweeping the floor behind the pup. "Kiki?" Carol asked, trying a different approach. Kiki gave an exuberant bark, then panted happily. Its long, pierced tongue hung from the corner of its mouth. She seemed more than silly and retarded to Carol, dog-like in every meaning of the term. Carol did not feel an ounce of pity for her former man—the opposite really, with a rising desire that had her wet and tingly. "Now I know why you've come muzzled. That's a sharp tongue for any woman." Even with Carol merely sitting beside it on the floor, Kiki's reduced body reached merely to Carol's chest. "Kiki, stand!" Her doggy promptly stood up on its four, short legs. Carol was most impressed by its obedience and swift responsiveness. Carol attached its leash again, first fitting it through Kiki's thick nose ring, then clipping it to the dog collar. Carol pulled and made the doggy promptly turn around. She wanted to finally explore its changed rear. Kiki showed not the smallest sign of self-awareness. She merely seemed jovial and happy to follow on her leash. Carol pulled Kiki's white tail up to see better. Kiki seemed to like that and wiggled her rear invitingly. Carol laughed. "You silly girl, you'd like that, wouldn't you!" 'If everything went to plan' she thought. Her touch was direct and bold. There was a lovely fold, like any pussy showcased, warm and lightly flushed on the outside. Carol's long fingers caressed Kiki's soft skin there, played with it, and expected the usual wetness. But no matter how often she caressed that patch of skin, she found no clit to speak of, or even inner labia. "Megan, fetch something to wash her paws. And be quick!" Carol shouted. "Yes, Ma'am!" Megan, who had looked just as hypnotized by Adam's many changes, jumped up and her maid's heels disappeared for a moment in the kitchen, before she came back out, armed with a wet washcloth. That's when Carol's pinky found the hidden hole. Tracing along the scar of Kiki's former clit, a faint, soft groove was all that remained. Her vulva felt empty and her opening had been sewn up at one point. By now, it had long ago fully healed. Close to its huge rectal slave plug, Carol pushed her pinky finger into the tiny opening. Kiki's tail started to wiggle, seemingly out of her control, and her long tongue drooled with excitement. It seemed such a cruelly tight and tiny hole, yet Carol loved every moment of teasing her for it. She had to firmly push to make her pinky disappear. With each tail swish, its warm inside clenched frantically! Megan diligently cleaned each paw, or rather its four short and featureless stumps for legs. "There, you had your very own pussy," Carol said while her pinky remained inside her. "Wasn't that enough? You still had to run away and lose it all." Carol gave him a chance after the fact to explain himself. No human words emerged, no apology nor guilty conscience tried to beg for her forgiveness. He was no longer a human, was he? Carol, in her usual charming manner, kept her pinky burrowed in Kiki's pussy hole—or what was left of it. She knew they still gave all dogs hormones after a nullification procedure, as eternal punishment. Her new pup would be running nowhere now. At best, Kiki would be hopping and stumbling along and looking for a bone to play with. With her other hand, Carol gripped Kiki's ever-present steel buttplug at its thick base. It had grown considerably since the last time she had seen and played with it. In the middle was a big valve encased, while around the curved base, it stated in large letters: SIZE 9. "Don't let me forget," Carol said to Megan, "to connect Kiki's plug to the house's slave fence, too." "Yes, Mistress," Megan said somewhat miserably, and flushed for some reason. Carol ignored the tempting reaction; she had more pressing business. As his true Mistress now, she knew that Kiki's slave plug had long ago become the final and largest size available for permanent hole stretching. She wondered how its constant weight must feel; though truthfully, she had no inclination to feel it for herself, or to have to wear a permanent and locked slave plug. At its narrowest, where Kiki's stretched and bulging anus gripped its plug, its unusual diameter had the size of Carol's wrist. 'So for a time, it really worked out for you, Adam,' Carol thought. 'You did get your promised reward.' Except now, he was forever stuck with it. Deeper inside, its final form must be huge. His former wife pulled playfully at his rectal peg. There was no more Adam left to respond. Instead, she slapped Kiki's reduced pussy, trying to coax a human reaction out of her new pup. Kiki whined a little but her body said otherwise, wiggling and twitching its feminine hips. The perverted realization only made the Mistress of the house wetter for her former husband's tongue. Its many glistening piercing studs shone with a purpose she knew exactly how to use. Carol quickly discarded her house slippers and sprang up. Barefoot, she headed for the large, wooden stairs. Kiki naturally followed on her leash without a bark. Except, when Kiki reached the stairs, she suddenly had great trouble following upward. Stripped of the privilege of ever walking again like a two-legged human being, Kiki had to work a lot harder now to stay at her Mistress's bare feet. Carol, in turn, after watching how much trouble her shrunken puppy now had, fired her sadistic inferno only further up. "Megan!" Carol said. "Make yourself useful and have dinner ready in an hour. And something for the pup. Some kitchen waste, anything soft, will do." "Yes, Ma'am!" Megan said and curtsied with a much too short skirt. But even with her corseted waist, Megan seemed to have become used to her oversexualized uniform. The clacking of her heels disappeared below. On top, and almost upstairs, Carol pulled gingerly at Kiki's leash, trying to help her (but only in thought). Her pup had become smaller and shorter than she had ever expected. It drooled and panted as it fought its way up, one big step after another, with its cute and stubby little legs. Its large breasts, with its fat and pierced nipples, dragged over each step. Kiki's front legs were too short to stop her heavy tits from rubbing, clunking, and squeezing across each wooden corner. She was struggling with her changed body. However, her soft moans and whines achieved the opposite in Mistress's body. Her pup's eyes remained affixed to Carol's bare, wiggly, warm, and moving feet. Seeing feet must have become even more tempting for the little footlicker, since she no longer had any of her own to feel. "I wonder if your last Mistress still found a good use for your tongue?" Carol said aloud, but more to herself than to the panting and drooling bitch at her feet. No reply came from its toothless hole. Its emasculated body had lost its former strength without a doubt. "Maybe you're a little too filthy to still play with?" Carol said, biting her lip. "Two years as a shit-eating dog seems to have done you some good." Her panting pup had reached the top of the stairs and seemed particularly proud about it. Apparently, not a word had been registered by its dog brain. "That's a good girl!" Carol said cheerfully. "I guess we'll find out soon enough if you can still talk." Somewhat out of breath, Kiki licked one of Carol's feet most gratefully. "Good girl!" There was a dullness in her puppy's eyes she couldn't quite shake. Nothing about this sorry creature reminded her of her former husband. Carol pulled Kiki along behind her with a sudden urge, aiming straight for her large bedroom. When they arrived inside, a bald woman slept on the floor, chained to one of the walls by her collar. Her leash formed a pile on the soft carpet and was generous enough to let her reach the large bed. As soon as she awoke from the soft patter of feet, she lowered her beaten body, groveled, and presented the back of her bald head to Mistress. Her hands remained flat and outstretched on the floor. "It's fine, #52, I don't need you now." Carol slipped out of her dress and was naked in a flash. Her feminine body was still as slender as ever. She sank into her cool bedsheets, pulling the leash after her. Kiki soon found her second obstacle within the new human world. She had her front paws up on the bed, panting happily, but couldn't go any further. When she tried hopping on the bed with her short hind legs, Carol had to laugh. It just didn't work. Her four cute paws were no longer capable of jumping. "Come, come, Kiki," Carol said, playing a mischievous game with her pet. Not a chance. She couldn't even get in bed with her. Carol simply loved it! Kiki's heavy breasts bulged on the edge of the high mattress, leaving her pretty nipple rings twinkling. Carol alone had done this to him, had changed him into this pitiful creature. Another sudden jolt of arousal made her want to fuck him on the spot because she realized she had to upgrade her kinky collection of strap-ons — with some extra dragon and horse cocks for sure! She also had to stop calling him a 'he' in the future. But more importantly, did she now want to have her very own personal luxury toilet? Kiki was more than used to that service. Or did she fancy another pussylicker in her household? Or maybe both... Her naked #52, watching from the foot of her bed, was wonderful in between the sheets and could read every wish off her lips. Yet, it hadn't been Carol who had broken and molded her into what she had become. Kiki's wife finally grabbed him and picked the pup up, helping the poor bitch into her big bed. Cool sheets caressed Carol's exposed body. She cuddled her dog like a plush toy, except Kiki felt very much warm and alive against her skin. Her new pup was too cute! She definitely had to get her pup a proper gimp suit for her playroom, with rings at the end of its feet. Carol's hands seemed drawn to the ends of its short stumps for legs. They couldn't bend or grab anything. They were only good at keeping her bitch a four-legged creature for the rest of its pathetic life. With a bitch-suit, she could keep her Kiki helplessly spread eagle, horizontal and at about hip height. She would have some shopping to do, and soon, so she could get to work on her bitch. Kiki's orgasm center had been cut out and was gone for good, but Carol still wanted to play with that SIZE 9 plug of hers. Tautly restrained and spread by its ringed limbs, she would soon find out how much she could still make her bitch struggle under her sadistic hips. If Kiki just knew what her wife thought. Eventually, Carol let Kiki escape her tight embrace and only brushed her naked body against the pet. Without its arms or teeth, Kiki was hopelessly outgunned. To her surprise, Carol didn't even have to say the word. Her broken pup already wandered lower, sniffing out her soaked peach with its naughty snout. It took the bitch a while to work its way under the sheets, but eventually, its warm, soft mouth reached Carol's equally warm and wet opening. The chastity had done him good because a very eager mouth latched on to her, overpowering Carol with a sick passion. With each lick, a cruel lust exploded in her body. "Such a good girl," she moaned, writhing her body, freeing herself from her desires under its wiggling tongue. Her lap dog was right in her—well, lap—slurping up her musky scent like it was dinner time already for the broken bitch. It turned into an endless moment of pure, undiluted bliss for Carol Henderson. It was her final emancipation, her ultimate liberation from her former husband. Soon, she would join the ranks of the newly birthed Mistress caste. This perverted relic of Adam now lay neutered in her bed, stripped of all its patriarchal powers and birthrights. Her Adam had become nothing more nor less than her legally owned property—a pet toy for her naughty pleasures and whims, as his Mistress. Its long, multi-pierced tongue would serve her well, should she ever get sick of her other girls. "Kiki..." Carol moaned, "you'll make an excellent addition to my mmmmodesst househo..." But, the time for words was over. A powerful and corrupting orgasm washed over the Mistress of the house. Her naked body shook under the sheets as never before. A sadism-infused wave of blinding pleasure would not leave her memory for a long time. But no words came back from her pup. Her dumb lap dog mouthed no "thank yous" or "sorries". Just an instinctive and highly-conditioned response greeted Carol's body—for however long she could take it. With the bitch's bald head stuck between her sweaty thighs, Carol came much too easily again! She hadn't been lying when she had promised her former husband to fulfill his deepest desires. THE END (Written in July 2022)
When I had the first idea about this story, I only knew for certain about the sending-him-off and game-over aspects of this Femdom story, and not about the last chapter or any of the societal details. Rather, the backstory (about the world) kept on intruding and disrupting the story flow until I cut it all out and amassed it in a more orderly fashion as the intro. It might be boring as an opener (for an erotic story), but it seemed too valuable to throw away. The slave compartments were already pretty clear in my mind and how they looked and functioned (thank you, kinky mind). "Are there any stories of mine that might be similar?" you might ask. Well, somewhat (as of Aug 2022): 'SLAVE UNIT' - Pet girls/pet play, enslavement, playing in a future Planet XX. It's more C-NC than this story, and with a softer start but explores this kinky society further, with all its rather odd rules in the eyes of outsiders. 'HEAVY BONDAGE 1' - Chapter: Pet girl #14, with a castrated and reduced slave waiting at the vet with its mistress. 'THIRSTY TOILET SLUT' - Free short comic
DETAILED STORY TAGS: free bondage story, husband leased-out, amputated human pet, permanent chastity, Ff/fm, husband enslaved by dominant wife, kinky BDSM story, slavery society, KINKY-SOCIETY, male-to-female transformation

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