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CHAPTER TWELVE Samantha Comes to Dinner Eric's eyes went wide with dread as he stared towards the front door and froze. The very idea that somebody other than Julia would see him wearing nail polish was completely paralyzing. "Well, what are you waiting for? Open the door for our guest," Julia said firmly. He started walking to the door, the panic making his hands tremble as his heart began racing. Julia really wanted to humiliate him in front of one of her co-workers! Why?! The moment the door opened he'd become the office joke, Julia's stay-at-home man-wife who polished his nails - an effeminate pansy! He desperately wanted to scurry off but Julia's eyes were hard. He reached for the doorknob and looked towards her again, panicking. "Open the door, Eric," she said menacingly. "Please," Eric mouthed silently, begging. "Open the door now or I will!" He turned the knob and pulled, jumping back a few steps as it opened, dropping his hands down and back to hide them. Samantha smiled uneasily at Eric, the corners of her mouth twisting, her eyes tightening as they swept over him. "I'm guessing you're Eric," she said sweetly. He nodded and struggled to project something resembling a smile despite the panic he felt. "Yes. Come in?" he said with uncertainty, backing away from the door. Tall stilettos clicked on the tiles announcing Samantha's entry as her little black dress swished over smooth, trim legs. She looked both elegant and sexy, the little dress caressing lovingly over soft curves, hugging a trim waist and flaring out at the hips, the hem dancing halfway up her thighs. Eric was enthralled. Julia stood some paces back from the door, watching to see what would happen next, wanting to savor the moment she knew was coming. Eric shut the door behind their guest and the hairs on the back of his neck rose up immediately. He glanced back at Samantha and caught surprise and bemusement in her eyes. It was obvious what was coming next, the heat in his cheeks rising from the shame of it. An amused, curious expression overtook Samantha's face as she darted her head about to get a better look at Eric's hands. She seemed to be struggling to contain herself from an outburst of laughter. "Well, aren't your nails cute," she said. "I don't think... I've ever seen a man with nails as pretty as yours," she said stifling another laugh, "not even once." "Stop trying to hide them, Eric," Julia commanded. "Let her get a good look." He did as he was told, fanning his fingers out, cheeks burning with shame, wishing he could somehow just disappear. "That's your color isn't it?" Samantha asked Julia. Before Julia could answer she turned to Eric. "You aren't stealing your wife's nail polish are you?" she asked. Both women laughed at the joke while Eric's cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. "No, no," Julia said, still catching her breath. "I'm training him to do my nails. I have him practicing, on himself." "Oh, that's a great idea," Samantha enthused. "And, it's a beautiful color on you too, Erica," she said with a smirk, having feminized his name. Julia laughed some more, Samantha joined her. He just stood there, accepting the ridicule in silence, feeling utterly insignificant before the two women, both of whom had prettier painted nails than him. Why couldn't they have just left him alone over it, pretended it was normal for a man to color his nails too? Oh no, it was only okay for them, for the females. "Goodness, where's my manners," Julia said, her laughter at Eric having subsided to a soft chuckle. "Welcome to my home, Sam," Julia said warmly. "I'm so glad you could make it tonight. We really should have done this sooner." She crossed over to Samantha and gave her a polite hug. "We really should have," Samantha responded enthusiastically, then pulled Julia even closer, tighter, the embrace pressing their breasts together, enough to bulge their garments suggestively outwards at the sides. The women smiled at each other as they separated. "Let me show you around," Julia said, taking a deep breath. The women began walking further into the apartment, leaving Eric to follow, watching them from behind as they sauntered away, the hems of their garments high on their thighs, long legs and heels looking so lovely, both moving with an erotic grace that made his cock stiffen. They looked incredible, like goddesses, Eric thought, feeling suddenly inadequate to be in the same room with them. "Your nails really are pretty," Samantha said to Eric over her shoulder, breaking him out of the spell the two of them had cast on him. He smiled awkwardly, unsure how to take the compliment. Samantha thought she hid her contempt for Eric well. It was clear that Julia deserved so much better than what he could ever offer, she thought bitterly. It was a delightful surprise to see that Julia had put him in nail polish - a perfect opportunity to rub his face in something, one she fully intended to exploit. The three of them stopped walking once they were in the center of the apartment, where the kitchen, living room, and dinning room all intersected. Samantha turned towards Eric like a mantis preparing to consume the smaller male once it's service was no longer needed, convinced that eradicating his masculinity and demoralizing him were the keys to eventually winning Julia's heart. "I was thinking," Samantha started, "I do like that red on you but you really need to let your nails grow out. How do you expect to properly care for Julia's nails if you only practice on your measly, short ones?" Eric looked at her aghast, unsure of how to respond. Long nails? Was she kidding?! "Julia, you should consider having him keep his nails a lot longer, more like yours," Samantha said. "If he's practicing doing your nails he needs to be practicing on long nails, I would think. Right?" Julia nodded thoughtfully. "Honestly, that probably would be better," she admitted. "I'll have to seriously think about that." Eric stared at Julia, tensely waiting for a reprieve. "Eric, don't cut your nails until I tell you to," she ruled. "What?!" he objected. "You heard me. I'll let you know when you can cut you fingernails. I want you to grow them out a bit," she said. "I'll figure out how long they need to be later but no cutting or trimming them from now on without my permission." Julia stood there, arms crossed, clearly not willing to accept further debate over it while Samantha smiled cheerily at his predicament. He didn't dare object further. "Okay," he said meekly. Samantha looked like she wanted to squeal with delight. "When they get a little longer start shaping them a little. Eventually, you can taper them like I keep mine," she directed. "And don't you dare break any of your nails either or I'll take you to a salon and have them put acrylics on you." Samantha beamed at the announcement. Eric nervously nodded in agreement, suddenly more terrified of breaking a nail than growing them out. How did women keep their nails long anyway? Women broke their nails all the time, didn't they! He groaned inwardly at the new burden. "Oh! I brought a couple small gifts for dinner," Samantha announced, changing the subject. She held up a red gift bag she had been carrying. "One is for the mistress of the house," she said with a tiny dip towards Julia, presenting her with a bottle of wine from the bag. "Very nice. Thank you so much," Julia said. "The other," she began, "is for our hostess...," she said with a giggle. "Sorry... a gift for our host," she said correcting herself. Grinning infectiously, she presented the gift bag to Eric. Suspiciously, he reached into the bag, past the tissue paper, his fingers touching what felt like... cloth. He couldn't imagine what it might be. He tugged on the material, pulling it slowly out of the bag. He was immediately confused at what he saw, black material with large, white polkadots. As it fully emerged from the bag it was obvious it had broad white ties attached too with a bottom that flared out. Eric held it up and grimaced as he flipped it around a couple times, shocked. "This... it's... a ladies apron," he declared. Julia stifled a laugh at the very feminine apron, full length, with a frilly neckline and what approximated a full skirt. Anybody tying the garment around them, from the front at least, would look like they were wearing a dress. Eric held it out towards Julia, trying to give it to her, hoping to be rid of the thing. "Oh no," Samantha complained, "I bought it for you." "But it...," he started, then looked to Julia frowning, hoping she would pluck it away and take charge of the apron-dress, freeing him of it. "Don't be rude, Eric," Julia said. "You put that on and thank Samantha for thinking of you. Sorry Sam, he's still getting used to his proper place. He's being pointlessly rude right now." Eric stared at the apron with utter dread, the very notion of wearing something so completely girly was absurd. "Put it on!" Julia shouted. He lowered his eyes in submission and raised the apron by the ties on top, tying it with some difficulty until it was suspended around his neck. The body of the apron-dress came next. He wrapped the broad ties attached at the waist of the garment around him, bringing them around twice, before tying them into a bow in front, his pretty fingers trembling as he finished. The skirt of the apron circled almost completely around his thighs, looking very much like a polkadot dress from the front and sides. Only the open back and his regular clothes underneath made it clear that it was really only a fancy apron he wore. Both women stared at him, their amusement brimming over the top as they struggled to contain themselves. "If I'd known you had him doing his nails I would have bought the red one instead," Samantha said with a giggle, quickly pursing her lips to hold in an outburst. "He would have looked so precious with matching nails," she added with a heartier giggle slipping out. Julia nodded in agreement, her face filled with mirth. "And maybe a matching lip color and blush," she suggested with a chuckle. Samantha nodded in agreement. Both women then burst into laughter. Eric kept his eyes downcast, his cheeks hot from embarrassment as the women's laughter pelted his battered ego. He'd failed Julia as a husband he reminded himself. As terrible as it was to have another woman involved, if Julia wanted to disgrace him like this then maybe he deserved it, he concluded. "Well, thanks for the gifts, Sam," Julia said, gently dabbing at the corners of her eyes from all the laughter. "I needed a good laugh. Hopefully, Eric's cooking is better than his sense of style," she snickered. "Let's hope he's good at something," Samantha said wryly. "Well, he has finally learned how to wash dishes and keep the sink clean," Julia said happily. "That's something, I guess," Samantha said. She touched Julia briefly on the arm then, smiling at her. "You do have a charming apartment," she added warmly, changing the discussion. "Oh, thank you. But honestly, I plan to redecorate. Eric picked a lot of this stuff out. I've never really liked it that much. I'm going to put some color in here, change the artwork, get rid of Eric's vulgar sculpture. I've never liked that grey tower thing anyway. Besides, it's too phallic, bad energy," Julia said. "I'd have to agree," Samantha said, grimacing at the sculpture. The women chatted a bit more about the apartment while Julia gave Samantha the full tour. Eric didn't want to follow, listening to Julia's plans for her apartment was too heartbreaking and depressing. It was obvious that she would be making all future decorating decisions without any regard for his feelings or thoughts at all. He went to the kitchen instead, continued to work on dinner and tried to ignore what they were doing. The way things were going, he may as well be a pet, a companion animal to be trained and groomed to her liking. He threw the oven door open to look at the casserole, quickly tossing it on top of the stove with hot pads then slamming the oven shut. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. A pet, maybe it wasn't too far from the mark, he realized, thrusting the spike of a temperature probe into the casserole to check on it, playing the good homemaker, his polished nails unavoidable reminders of his new status. Julia and Samantha returned from the back rooms giggling in the hallway as they made their way back towards Eric. "Seriously?" Samantha asked with a giggle, continuing some conversation Eric hadn't heard. "Yes!" Julia replied. "The character he plays in the game is the most muscle bound, hulking, macho man you've ever seen," she said. Suddenly coming into view of Eric in his apron-dress, holding the temperature probe between his pretty nails, both women burst out in laughter. Eric's jaw began to quiver at the ridicule, knowing how ridiculous and unmanly he looked. He turned away to hide his face, presenting the back of the apron to both women, and approached the sink to rinse the probe under the faucet, staying there far longer than needed, running pretty fingers up and down the metal spike, until the peals of laughter quieted. "I shouldn't be so hard on him," Julia said, recovering from the fit of laughter. "After all, I guess it makes sense that a... sissy might want to be more manly." "I don't know," Samantha challenged. "Maybe... he really wants to be a woman and he's hiding behind the muscle bound brute because his brain can't come to grips with the sad truth of it." "Maybe," Julia considered with a shrug. "Is that it, Eric? Do you really want to be a woman?" she teased him. Eric shook his head feebly, eyes cast downwards, and said nothing. He felt absurd in the apron-dress and nail polish, certain that he really did look like a sissy. At least he had a shirt and pants on underneath the terrible thing. "Well, I doubt he'd admit to it," Samantha said. "I think that's in the 'man code' someplace. It's one of the last things they'd ever want to admit to, like being a woman is one of the worst possible things ever." "And then they pursue us with their tongues hanging out for so much as a smile," Julia said. The women laughed at the absurdity of men, sharing a few more antidotes to underscore how irrational and how hypocritical males were. It was male bashing at its finest, Eric thought, contemptible; but, he was in no position to defend his gender. Their smalltalk continued for a time while Eric kept working in the kitchen, waiting on the women to decide when he would start serving. By the time Eric was running a cloth over the kitchen faucet, polishing it to a nice gleam, the women took their seats at the dinning room table. Julia gave Eric little more than a tiny nod to compel him into action. Immediately, he brought out their salads and served them. When he retrieved his own to join them he was abruptly stopped by a halting glare. Julia's expression was one of contempt and surprise. It eased as he took a few steps back towards the kitchen. He almost dropped his salad at the sudden realization that he wasn't wanted at their table, that he wasn't worthy enough to sit with them. He was expected to serve them and to have his meal in the kitchen like a mere servant. Samantha had her back to Eric, seemingly oblivious to the small drama being played out. He continued to inch back towards the kitchen with Julia checking on him the whole way. When he finally sat down at the kitchen table, Julia granted him a subtle nod of approval then focused her whole attention back on her guest. He had been dispatched by her without saying a single word. The conversation at the 'woman's table' was fairly routine, mostly office gossip and business talk. He felt entirely excluded. It was hurtful too, listening to all the vital, engaging activity occurring at their company while his own days had become a grind filled with service and submission. He sat there in silence picking at his salad, his polished nails constantly in view to remind him of what he was apparently becoming. "Pathetic sissy," he whispered softly to himself, condemning his downfall. "You're not worthy to sit with the real women, sissy," he added contemptuously, berating himself, the women paying him no mind at all, passionately chatting back and forth like song birds. They continued on like that for a time. Eric had barely poked through half his salad when Julia summoned him over with a few jerks of a finger. He rose awkwardly from the kitchen table, smoothed down the skirt of the apron and walked over while Samantha struggled to restrain her glee at Julia's growing dominance. "More wine for us, Eric," Julia said. "Then you can serve the casserole." He walked away sheepishly, to do her bidding. The part of him that wanted to rebel was still screaming inside, appalled at his behavior and willing servitude. It was getting easier to ignore that voice though, to simply comply, regardless what Julia asked. Blind acceptance seemed easier, better. "Did he move that slow before the tattoo too?" Samantha asked Julia with a shrug. Eric stopped cold and turned to look at Julia, his face twisted with bewilderment. "Does your little back still hurt?" Samantha asked mockingly, pouting at him. "She knows?!" Eric asked with a shout. "Of course, she knows," Julia responded, snidely. "I'll tell anyone I want about your sissy tramp stamp!" "Can I see it, Julia?" Samantha asked, excited. "Of course," Julia said. "Turn around and show her your tattoo." He leveled his eyes at Julia with a deep, pleading stare. "I... I thought that was private... between us... you'd keep it between us. I don't-" Rage flashed in Julia's eyes at his resistance. It was enough to inspire her to even further cruelty, to teach him a lesson. She got up from her chair and strode over to Eric menacingly, getting up in his face, nearly touching. She stood there for a moment, looming over him, slightly taller in heels, eyes sharp and clear, scowling at him. "Take off the apron," she commanded. Eric stared at her, terrified at what was happening. "Please don't force me to do this," he whispered in a tiny, frightened voice. "We've been through this. I don't force you to do anything. You always have a choice. You're free to leave anytime you want!" Julia said, pointing towards the door. Eric dipped his head down, wanting to avoid Julia's fierce glare. His fingers began to tremble as he pulled at the ties of the apron, his red nails a bright contrast to the basic black and white of the apron, the bow at the waist giving away with a simple tug. Julia spun him around by the shoulders as the apron came free, deftly pulling it over his head. Samantha had turned her seat around to view the spectacle of Eric's humiliation, reveling in every moment. "Take your shirt off," Julia demanded. "I want Samantha to see what you really are. Show her!" He tugged at his shirt in the back, untucking it from his pants, and lifted it hesitantly, revealing just a small portion of the script written into his flesh, hoping it would satisfy Julia and leave some small portion of his dignity intact. "I said, take your shirt off, Eric!" He began fumbling with the buttons, the trembling of his fingers and the realization that a stranger was about to see his shameful marking making it awkward and slow. As the last button was undone he looked over his shoulder at Julia, locking eyes with her. "Off!" she shouted. He pulled one arm out of the shirt and Julia abruptly pulled it off him the rest of the way, revealing his back to Samantha. Eric dropped his head down in shame. "Property of Julia Grant," Samantha said, reading it out-loud. Eric cringed. "It's supposed to be a special type of ink too," Julia said. "Harder to laser off. Extra durable or something, not sure why exactly. The artist said it was something special," Julia shrugged. "I don't think he's getting rid of that tattoo very easily." Julia turned towards Eric, wanting to drive the point home, and whispered loudly, dramatically into his ear. "That's not coming off, Eric. Not ever." Samantha was tingly at the pronouncement. If only all males were similarly marked by their wives the world would be such a better place, she was sure of it. But right now she was only concerned with one male - he was in her way and needed to suffer for it. "Julia? I hate to ask," Samantha said, trying to sound innocent, "but can I get a slightly better look? I want the full effect, really see how it fits on his back but... his pants are a tiny bit in the way. See? How some of the letters are covered? The very bottom of some of them?" Julia shrugged then looked at Samantha and the smile on her face. It was an opportunity. "Pull your pants down so Samantha can see better," Julia said. Eric was grateful that he couldn't see their faces as he undid his pants and slowly pushed them down a few inches. His face burned from shame, from being so utterly exposed, his heart pounding so hard he was afraid he might pass out. How could Julia do this to him?! "Better?" Julia asked. Samantha nodded, grinning ear to ear, staring at Eric's back. "Property of Julia Grant," she said, reading it aloud again. "That's really incredible, Julia," she said, genuinely impressed at how quickly Julia had evolved. "Practically, obscene, but in a good way." Julia smiled. "He needed to understand his place," she said with a cute little shrug. "Well, that should do it. It's so... extreme," Samantha said. Julia bit her lip playfully and stared at Eric's tattoo, like she was seeing it for the first time, reading her name over and over, her sense of delight growing by the moment. "It really is pretty extreme, isn't it?" she asked. "Putting a large tramp-stamp on a man's back declaring him your personal property? Yeah. I'd say so." A shutter ran up Eric's spine as he became an object of ridicule. He was being unraveled, undone by the words and deeds of women, becoming an object for Julia to do with as she pleased. His cock pulsed at the thought, betraying him again, pleased by the idea of being subjugated and used by the 'weaker sex'. "Did I mention that he's wearing my handwriting? The artist, she used my handwriting to make the stencil," Julia said. "Really?!" Julia nodded, smiling, feeling deliciously naughty, becoming more dominant every day and loving it, reveling in the power. There seemed no end to it. Each submission from Eric left her wanting more. As far as she was concerned, he was so weak and pathetic he deserved what was happening to him, every bit of it. Samantha smiled. "Well, it's lovely, very feminine. Inspiring, actually. I love it, Julia," she said sincerely. "What does he think about it?" "Tell, her, Eric. How do you like your pretty, girly tat?" Eric began to stammer. "I... I..." "Tell, her! A woman asked a question!" Julia insisted. He took a deep breath trying to control himself. "Makes me feel... different." "Different? Different how?" Samantha pressed. "Tell her, Eric. Tell her the truth otherwise I'll punish you! Maybe I'll take you back to the tattoo shop for that piercing," Julia threatened. "How do you feel different?" she insisted. Eric trembled, fearful of speaking the truth but even more fearful of telling a lie and getting caught. "Like, maybe... I sorta am, a little," he said, his cock throbbing at the admission. "Sorta am, what?" Julia asked annoyed. "Sorta am... your property," Eric finally said with a shutter, his cock feeling like it was about to explode at the confession. Julia and Samantha exchanged a meaningful look of satisfaction before turning their attention back towards Julia's self proclaimed man- property. A cruel look overtook Julia's face as she thrust the apron back at Eric. "Put it back on, Eric," Julia said. He grabbed the apron-dress and pulled up his pants as high as he could to help hide the shame on his back. "No! Lose the pants!" Julia commanded. "Socks too." Eric turned around to face her with a bewildered look. "What?!" "You can cover yourself with the apron," she said dismissively. He looked incredulous, horrified. "But, the whole back is open," he complained. "We have a guest," he added glancing towards the wildly grinning Samantha. Julia glared back at him with withering contempt, her eyes seething with anger at his pointless objections. "I guess we're going back to the tattoo shop." Eric immediately threw the apron-dress over his head and let his pants fall to the floor, terrified by whatever punishment Julia was on the verge of inflicting. His cock bounced forward, still impossibly stiff, as the skirt of the apron settled in place. Julia's visage softened as be began to tie the apron around his waist. Shaking, he stepped out of the pants on the floor and finally pulled off his socks. He was dizzy, his heart hammering, as he tried to smooth down the flaring skirt of the apron, feeling exposed and vulnerable as cool air moved over sweaty thighs, feeling for the first time in his life like he was wearing a dress. "Better," Julia said sweetly, as if nothing had happened. "Now, let's get back to dinner. More wine for us, then you can serve the casserole." Eric nodded as he stepped away from them, moving backwards towards the kitchen, hoping to keep the open back of the apron-dress out of view, trying to maintain some sense of composure. He quickly returned with the wine, deeply self-conscious and ashamed, the breeze under the apron- dress, the openness, making him feel exposed and vulnerable. He wondered how women ever managed it, wearing dresses and skirts, leaving their nether parts so open to the air constantly. Julia was sitting back at the table when he returned, looking perfectly poised, her skirt riding high into her lap, one leg seductively crossed over the other, sitting there like a queen on her throne waiting for a lowly servant to do her bidding. She held the empty wine glass forward as he approached with a look of contentment. Carefully, he began filling her glass from the wine bottle. She smirked smugly at her submissive sissy, wondering what his apron-dress might look like if his breasts were already sprouting to better fill out the top. "I have to thank you again, Samantha," Julia said. "Eric looks better than I thought he would in a... dress." He winced at her appraisal almost spilling the wine as he topped off her glass. Eric approached Samantha next, wine in hand, and began pouring. "You might want to make him shave his legs though," Samantha said. "Maybe get him an actual dress or two of his own, especially for occasions like this." Eric's hands trembled at the suggestion, almost spilling the wine on Samantha. "Careful," she said playfully. "No need to get excited. I'm sure if you ask nicely Julia will be more than happy to buy you some dresses." Eric flashed an awkward, pained smile towards Samantha, the suggestion clearly distressing, fearful that saying anything might encourage Julia to act on it. He backed away to the kitchen to prepare their plates, using the kitchen table to portion out the meal, trying to hide behind it as best he could. Wine in hand, Samantha watched him stumbling around in the kitchen to serve them. She took a delicate sip to relish the moment and to further plot his demise. She couldn't have hoped for a better outcome with the apron. Julia seemed to be throughly enjoying humiliating him and after being stripped down to his underwear, the apron-dress really did make him look more like a petulant little servant girl than a man. Regardless, she still wanted to undermine him more, hurt him, crush his ego. "You know what you're problem is?" Samantha asked Eric rhetorically. He looked up for a moment from the kitchen and only shook his head, wanting nothing to do her. "You've lost the battle of the sexes. Not just you but men in general. You're still catching up, trying to figure out the terms of surrender." Eric continued dressing their plates. He wanted to scoff at her claim but given his situation, being a subordinate male to a dominant female, it seemed absurd to offer a defense. Julia had changed him, taken over everything. Were other women doing the same thing to their men? The prospect was terrifying. Samantha had the serene look of a victor enjoying the spoils of the vanquished as she calmly took another sip of wine. Then, she made an astonishing statement - "You're entire gender is obsolete." Eric's eyes went wide and for some inexplicable reason his cock twitched to attention. "What?!" It was all he could muster. "I'm quite serious," Samantha said. "Males have become increasingly obsolete in the modern world. I'll grant that there's still value in the genetic material you provide for procreation but outside of that womyn don't really need you anymore. In fact, there's very good arguments to suggest your gender is more of a liability than an asset." "But... we do most the work. I don't-" "Whatever gave you that idea?!" Samantha said interrupting him, looking annoyed. Julia looked annoyed too, the scowl forming on her face making Eric nervous. "The last article I read said that womyn represented the majority of the work force now," Samantha said. Eric shrugged, trying to show indifference. He added a small sprig of parsley to each plate as a garnish and began walking them over. "But that's only part of the story," Samantha said. "Competitively, men are falling way behind womyn too and it's only going to get worse for you. We're outpacing men in college degrees by quite a bit now, not in every discipline yet but overall we're way ahead. Look it up on the Net if you don't believe me." Eric sat the plates down for the women, serving them, wondering how it was possible that men had fallen so far. If what she was saying was true, it was profound. "That means we're starting to take over most the professions," Julia added. "What you liked to call gender politics is simply the marketplace recognizing where most the true talent is," Julia said smiling. "Makes me proud to be...," Julia paused as emotion suffused her face, "a womon." Samantha beamed at her, tenderly reaching across the table to take her hand, celebrating the moment with her - Julia had redefined herself. Julia nodded at Samantha, welcoming the caress, as she dabbed the tears out of her eyes. "Yes," she said, nodding. "I'm really very proud to be a womon." Eric stood there frozen, not knowing what to make of them, feeling deeply uneasy, even threatened. "More and more womyn are waking up everyday," Samantha enthused. "The matriarchy is real and it's growing, getting stronger every day." She turned back towards Eric with a stoney gaze. "Are you beginning to get it yet?" she asked him in a patronizing tone. "While more and more men are getting lost in their video games and fantasy worlds, avoiding college, half of them still sleeping in their parent's basement in their jammies, womyn have been moving past you, working hard in the real world, displacing your kind, and we're slowly taking over. Everything. Everywhere." Eric felt a chill run up his spine. The room went quiet. Suddenly, everything that had happened made more sense. Samantha was at the root of it, had to be. She had worked her way in and twisted Julia up with some type of radical, dark, man-hating version of feminism. "Are you trembling, Eric?!" Julia asked. He was staring off into the distance, lost in a swirl of disturbing images of men at the feet of powerful women, licking their feet, begging for favors. He tried to calm himself as the room came back into focus. "I'm... fine," he said, lying. "Don't feel too bad," Samantha said to him. "It's evolution. Males have served their purpose... on the evolutionary stage that is. Now it's time for womyn to take over. It's really that simple. We needed your physical strength and aggression in the past but we've evolved past all that. We don't need it anymore. We have machines and technology and science and medicine and-" "Cities and, laws and, government!" Julia offered. "Exactly," Samantha agreed. "The point is, the testosterone that used to be an evolutionary advantage, a survival asset is poison now. It fuels pointless aggression and violence and crime." Eric stood there dumbfounded at the twisted reasoning but couldn't help to wonder if maybe a tiny portion of it might make some sense. "It's nothing to get depressed about," Samantha said. "It's just time for a change. Men need to find their place in the new order of things. It's time for the patriarchy to end and for the matriarchy to begin." The very notion ran another chill up Eric's spine. "Womyn are far better suited to the modern world. The sooner men understand that and accept their new place the better all of us will be." "Like I said before," Julia started, taking a sip of wine, "you should think of yourself as my wife. You're the homemaker and soon you're also going to be the mother to our children." Samantha locked eyes with Julia at the pronouncement. "More wine, wife," Julia commanded, pushing her glass forward, smiling ear to ear. Samantha did the same, confidently. Eric filled them with trembling hands. Dinner continued much as it had after that. The women chatted away and dined while Eric serviced them in his apron-dress and pretty nails, with humiliating, hurtful comments being hurled at him throughout the evening. By the time Samantha was finally ready to leave, Eric felt emotionally battered, his head pounding from the abuse. He could hardly wait to be rid of her. Julia could be bad, but seemed even worse with Samantha around. Samantha was standing, gathering her things, when she turned toward Eric in the kitchen. "It was interesting meeting you, Eric," she said, running her eyes over him with disdain, biting her lip derisively. Eric quickly rose from the kitchen table, smoothing down the apron- dress, and walked towards her, nodding, attempting a reassuring smile despite his aching, pounding head. She extended her hand towards him, inviting a handshake, her nails a deep red, like a rich wine, shorter than Julia's, they were still beautiful and very feminine. He grasped her hand gently and tried to smile again. Instead of shaking, Samantha turned his hand over and examined his manicure instead, pursing her lips with disapproval. "Streaky," she declared. "I'm sure you'll get better with time and practice," she added, releasing his hand. "It's a good thing Julia is having you grow them out, so you can work on her nails eventually." "You're still planning on doing that, right?" she asked Julia. Julia nodded, smirking. "Absolutely." "Good," Samantha said, smiling. Eric flashed her an insincere smile, his head pounding all the harder at the woman responsible for Julia's new dictate. "I imagine, next time we meet, your nails will be longer than mine," Samantha concluded. "Won't that be sweet? Having nice, long, feminine nails, all the time?" Eric suddenly got queasy thinking about it. If Julia held firm on having him grow them out they'd be impossible to hide from people! How would he do things out in public?! Satisfied by Eric's plight, Samantha smiled broadly and walked to the door. Julia followed to see their guest out as Eric retreated to the kitchen to begin cleaning up the dinner dishes, while he tried to forget as much of the evening as possible. Both of the women's heels clicked on the entryway tiles as Samantha prepared to leave. "It really was a fun evening," Samantha said. "Thanks so much for having me over." "It was fun wasn't it, Sam," Julia said enthusiastically. "We'll have to do it again sometime." "I'd really like that," Samantha said as she reached for Julia's hand to give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. She quickly leaned in close to Julia's ear with a mischievous look. "Eric looked lovely tonight, by the way," she whispered. "You're doing a good job with him. That tattoo is beyond precious. I can hardly wait to see what he looks like when he starts filling out that apron." Julia smiled wickedly. "I think I'm going to make that appointment for him. Next week." Samantha's eyes went wide. Julia nodded. "I think he might be ready." "Don't let up on him, Julia," Samantha whispered, the words laced with the excitement she felt. Julia ran her tongue over her teeth playfully, like a cat cleaning its fangs. She took a quick peek over her shoulder to make sure Eric wasn't in earshot. "I have a lot more planned for my little, submissive sissy," she said, twisting her lips with sadistic glee. Samantha leaned in and gave Julia a platonic kiss on the cheek and followed it with a friendly hug. A few moments later she walked into the hall as Julia gently closed the door behind her friend. Julia stood in the entryway with a broad smile lighting up her beautiful face, a smile concealing the deeply cruel thoughts harboring inside for her worm. The poor little fool had no idea what was coming. He would service her on his knees tonight, in that cute little apron, to satisfy the pleasing ache building under her skirt. But first, she would toy with him a bit, point out his inadequacies, further manipulate him. "Time to inspect your streaky nails, Eric!" she proclaimed.