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a story of a Matriarchal society

       “Going once; going twice; sold! ... to the Lady in the blue suit,” the auctioneer’s voice sang out, punctuated by the sharp rap of the gavel and the beginning of a polite round of applause from the several hundred Womyn seated in the auditorium.  i barely had time to take in the fact that my display on the auction block had ended when my leash was sharply pulled by the Womyn who had identified Herself only as my “handler” and i was led back down the long ramp, off stage.

       As She directed me off the stage and began leading me down a corridor in which, even through lowered eyes, i could see the next male being led to the block, my handler stopped me, stroked my bare bottom with more gentleness than i had received since i had arrived at the auction house and told me that i had done very well and brought in a very good bid.  Then She yanked my leash again and W/we continued walking down the hallway ... me still swinging my hips in an exaggerated fashion, as She had directed me to do while being displayed for auction.

       At the end of the hallway, as W/we approached a desk, my handler told me to kneel, which i did immediately, fearing both Her displeasure and the crop with which She displayed it.

       “This is #3406,” my handler told the Womyn behind the desk, after checking the plastic tag that hung from my collar,  “he’s behaved well, so far.”

       “Thanks, Laura,” the Womyn behind the desk replied.  “We really haven’t had much trouble.  These males aren’t much more difficult than our domestically raised and trained boys ... they all respond well to a firm hand and a well-placed stroke of the whip. How much longer is the auction going to last?  Any idea?  Will they try to clean out the pen ... or take a break and resume tomorrow?”                        

       “I don’t know, Sis.  The bidding is still very active.  It could go on a while.”

       “Well let’s get this one back to his holding cage.”

       With that, my leash was passed to the Womyn behind the desk ... and, after giving me a pat on my bowed head and admonishing me to continue to be good, my handler turned and walked back down the corridor ... the heels of Her boots (a sound i was growing increasingly accustomed to) receding as She walked away.  A quick tug on my leash startled me back to attention.

       “Let’s go, boy, stand up.  you know the drill ... eyes down, head bowed, two steps behind and to the right, and keep that pretty butt of yours swaying and those balls swinging.”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i replied quickly and meekly, following behind as i had been trained over the past several days to do.

       She stopped in front of one of a series of doors that lined both sides of the hallway and, after pointing to the ground, which i had learned to interpret as a command to kneel, She placed Her palm on the high-tech identification pad.  i took advantage of the delay in the door’s opening to ask a question, in the manner i had learned in the POW camp ... before POWs like myself had become spoils of war, to be sold and assimilated into the matriarchal culture that had defeated us.

       “Ma’am,” i ventured with humblest and softest voice, “may i speak?”

       “Yes, boy,” the Guard said.

       “Ma’am, i need to go to the bathroom.”

       Even with eyes lowered, i could tell the Guard was turning to look at me; if i could have seen Her face, i would have noticed it was with more humor than malice.

       “The bathroom,” She said, Her voice stern, but with the hint of concern i’d noticed in many of the Womyn who dealt with us at the auction house. “Boy, you have a lot to learn.  you are owned now, boy ... your needs are unimportant.  your new Owner will decide if, when, and how you will use the bathroom.  Until She arrives to collect you, i advise you to hold it in.  Understand, boy?”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i replied immediately.

       Shaking Her head as the door slid soundlessly open, the Guard motioned me to rise, and led me into the small room.  In the center of the room, She told me turn around to face the door, removed the leash from my collar, and ordered me to kneel.

       “Your new Owner will collect you here.  you are to remain kneeling and silent until She arrives ... and that could be a while.”  She dimmed the lights in my cell.  “Many of the Ladies like the spectacle of the auction.  She may also be purchasing another boy.  Or, after seeing some of the other stock, She may decide that She doesn’t want You after all ... in which case, you will have another date with the auction block.  I suggest you use this time to reflect upon your new position and how you will serve the Womyn who now owns you.  Understood?”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” came my immediate reply ... and i noticed it was becoming more and more automatic.

       As She walked around in front of me, i could tell She was giving me a quick examination to ensure that i would make a good impression on my new Owner.  Stopping abruptly, She nudged my knees further apart with Her booted right foot.  “Keep those legs widely spread, even when kneeling.  We don’t want your Owner to think We’ve taught you nothing, boy.”

       “Yes, Ma’am ... sorry, Ma’am.”

       “Good.”  Then the Guard petted my head and, a note of concern returning to Her voice, said kindly, “If I am still on duty when your Owner arrives, i will remind Her that We do not allow boys to pee or shit after they are vended.” 

       “Yes, Ma’am.  Thank You, Ma’am,” again, quite automatic.

       Then the Guard left, the door closed, and i was plunged into near complete darkness, left to ponder my fate.  i don’t know how long i was there in the room.  Beside the occasional muffled voice, the infrequent opening of doors along the hallway,  and the periodic clicking of female boots outside my door, there was little to mark the passage of time.  Then, suddenly, the clicking heels did not continue, but stopped directly outside of my door.  As the door opened, light flooded into the room and i would not have been able to see much even if my eyes had not been obediently lowered to the floor.  As it was, i heard and sensed — rather than saw — a Womyn enter the room, walk toward me, and stop directly in front of my kneeling form.

       After a long moment, in which i assumed She considered Her new property, the Womyn spoke.  “Kiss my feet, boy ... your Owner’s feet.”  The words were clearly enunciated in a sure, low voice, and i immediately complied, planting my lips gently once on each of the severe leather pumps She wore ... Her right foot first, then Her left, as i had been taught in a training session.

       “Very good.  Now stand.”  Again i complied immediately, noticing as i rose  that the Womyn was rather tall and wearing a blue business suit ... and carrying a stiff black leather riding crop, new by the looks of it.

       She began to walk slowly around me, not once but twice ... saying nothing.  Startling me, i felt Her hand close suddenly and firmly on my right butt cheek.  “What’s this, boy?” She demanded, breathing directly into my ear.

       Not knowing exactly how to respond, i ventured a meek answer.  “My bottom, Ma’am,” using a polite term for the part of my anatomy She was holding, having learned in a training session that only Womyn were allowed to use more vulgar terms.

       WHACK.  Instantly i felt a sharp lash strike across my left buttock and struggled to maintain my balance, a line of fire indicating that my answer was inappropriate.

       “No, boy,” She hissed, “wrong on two counts.  First, i am your Owner and you will address me as ‘Mistress’, never merely as ‘Ma’am’.  Other Womyn — all other Womyn — are ‘Ma’am’ to you; I — and only I — am ‘Mistress.’  Understood?”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i whimpered ... longing to rub my lacerated bottom, but daring not to move.

       “And second,” She said, grabbing my butt cheek again, this time causing me to stifle a small scream, “this is not yours ... it is mine.  Understand?”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i whimpered again.

       “Good,” Mistress said, slowly circling around to stand in front of me.  Although my eyes were lowered (and i was so scared i barely dared to breathe), i could tell that She was an extremely lovely Womyn and possessed of a commanding presence.  Her hair was dark and cut in a short, severe style.  She was roughly the same height as i, with a lithe build that i sensed (and would soon learn) was more powerful than it appeared.  My attempts to gather more details were brought to a close as i watched Her right hand ... beautifully manicured, with faultless red nails ... reach out with steady nonchalance to grasp my cock and lift it, pinching the skin beneath its head.

       “And what is this?” She asked.

       Having learned my lesson, i was quick with a reply.  “Your penis, Mistress.”

       “Good boy,” She said shaking the bulb of the cock gently.  “And Whom does this penis perform for?”

       “Only for You, Mistress.”

       “Very good, boy.”

       Dropping my flaccid penis, She moved Her hand lower, cupping my ball sac in Her hand.  Always fearful of my scrotum, i had to fight a powerful urge to resist Her touch, to clamp my legs shut ... but did so, swallowing hard, knowing full well that resistance would only be more painful.

       “And what are these, boy?” came Her question.

       “They are Your testicles, Mistress” i replied, mouth suddenly dry and hoarse.

       “Yes they are, boy.  And Whose sperm do they contain, boy?”

       “Your sperm, Mistress.”

       “Very good, boy.  you are learning ... and will learn much more,” She said, dropping my ball sac and stroking it gently.  “This cock and these balls are Mine.  The cock will be hard when I give permission; then and only then.  The balls will be granted release when I say so, and only when I say so.  They no longer exist for your pleasure, My pet, they exist only, only for my use and amusement.  If you can remember that, I may let you keep them for a while.  If you cannot, you will not have them much longer.  Do I make Myself absolutely clear?”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i croaked my response.

       From a pocket inside Her suit jacket, She took out a delicate, black leather leash, which She held up for me to examine.  “You will soon be fitted with a matching collar, boy.  It will lock on, demonstrate your status, and bear My name.  In the meantime, W/we will use the auction house collar.  Lift your chin.”

       When i complied, being sure to keep my eyes lowered even while lifting my head, She unhooked the identification tag and clipped Her leash onto the d-ring on the collar ... and i humbly relowered my head without having to be told.

       “I’m going to walk You out to my car, boy ... at least you may walk as long as You behave.  Any problems and I’ll put you on your hands and knees.”  Her words were calm and confident.  “One rule you need to learn immediately.  When I snap my fingers twice, you will kneel if you are standing ... or stand if you are kneeling.  Do you understand?”

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       With that ... and a sharp tug ... She led me out of the holding cell and down the corridor.  Without further instructions, i walked as the Guards had taught me ... heeling two steps back, on Mistress’s right side, eyes fixed on Her feet, arms folded in the small of my back, and hips swinging as much as Her pace allowed.  This must have pleased Her, because She looked back several times with what appeared to be —  through my lowered eyes —  a slight smile.

       As Mistress led me down several corridors, the familiar sense of humiliation returned whenever W/we passed other Womyn.  Although i couldn’t see them, i sensed their eyes examining me ... a naked, newly collared male, without property or rights, his sole purpose in Their matriarchal society one of obedience. 

       After taking several turns, Mistress suddenly stopped and turned to me.

       “I almost forgot.  The guard told me that you had not had a chance to take a piss or crap before going onto the auction block.  W/we have a long afternoon ahead of U/us ... do you need to go?”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i replied gratefully and added plaintively, “please.”

       “W/we do things like that differently here, boy, and it’s as good a time as any for you to learn how.”

       With that, Mistress turned and tugged on my leash, leading me down a very short side corridor marked with a sign that read “Restroom.”  At the end of the short corridor, the room split into halves.  On the right, in the larger half was a well-appointed, even luxurious area — apparently for Womyn only — that contained several settees, a bank of marble wash basins, and half a dozen or so stalls.  To the left, where Mistress led me, the smaller half was completely bare ... except for three rectangular slits in the tile floor, each approximately a foot wide and three feet long, arranged in a parallel line.  During the “re-education” after my capture, i had grown used to a loss of privacy, to going to the bathroom in the presence of other males and even Womyn, but this was much different ... much worse. 

       Mistress pointed to the middle one and said, “Straddle that hole, on your knees and elbows.”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i replied, nearly choking on the humiliation, and assumed the position ... knees and elbows on the cold, hard tile; cock dangling and half erect from the indignity.

       “This is how boys use the bathroom, as you say, inside,” Mistress said.  “And you are not to begin until I say that you may.”  She waited for several beats.  “Alright boy, you may piss.”

       Struggling against the embarrassment and the semi-erection, i forced myself to pee, fortunately producing finally a stream strong enough that it did not splatter much.  As the sound of my urine splashing into the tile-lined slit subsided, Mistress walked up close behind me.

       “Do you need to do number two,” Mistress asked, rather tauntingly.

       “No, Mistress,” i replied, truly relieved that i did not have to.

       “Then are you finished, boy?” She asked and simultaneously stuck Her crop between my legs, lightly tapping my cock to shake off the final drops.

       “Yes, Mistress,” i answered, swallowing hard.

       “Good. Get up.”  And She led me out of the restroom, my face beet red from the position and the degradation.

       Back in the main hallway, as W/we approached the elevators at the end of one hallway, Mistress stopped and snapped Her fingers twice.  At the cracking sound, i dropped immediately to my knees, which earned me a quick pat on the head and a “Nicely done, pet.”  When the elevator door opened, She snapped Her fingers twice again, i rose with equal promptness, and W/we entered the elevator ... where She snapped Her fingers again for me to kneel.  Riding down a couple of flights, i was primed to rise as the doors opened, but instead of U/us getting off, several Ladies got on ... which caused Mistress to jerk suddenly on my leash, pulling me backwards with the admonition to “Make room, pet.”

       “Is this a new one, Sister?” asked one of the Womyn.

       “Yes he is,” Mistress answered, “one of the war spoils.”

       “Ahh,” the Womyn replied.  “Well, he’s a cutie.”

       “That’s nice of you to say, Sis.  He certainly cost enough ... but I fully intend to get my money’s worth,” Mistress laughed and stroked my head, while i blushed feverishly.

       Above me, one of the other Ladies laughed as i reddened.  “Well, he certainly has good color.”

       Mistress laughed, too.  “And, Sisters, he will certainly have even more color by the time I am through with him today ... especially on his ass.”

       When the doors opened a second time, Mistress snapped Her fingers twice and led me off the elevator, exchanging farewells with the other Womyn, several of whom cautioned me teasingly to be good.  W/we crossed the front lobby of the stately office building and, with me holding the door, exited.  Mistress led me down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, stopping at a stand where two males kneeled as She approached.  We had been taught during our brief orientation session by the Guards that males in this society were generally kept naked, so it did not surprise me that these males (both of whom were older, but still addressed as “boy”) wore only collars and cropped tee shirts emblazoned front and back with the word “valet.”  The shirts extended only to their rib cages, leaving their bellies, buttocks, and “privates” fully exposed.  When Mistress handed a token to one and told the “boy” to bring around Her car, i noticed that his scrotal sac appeared entirely empty and that what appeared to be a large brand decorated his right butt cheek.  i shuddered at both sights, fearing that the same or worse were in store for me.

       As the boy ran off to fetch Her car, Mistress snapped Her fingers three times, causing me to arrest myself halfway into a kneel.  “Three times means on your hands and knees, boy.”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i replied, quickly assuming the position.

       Mistress examined my doggy-style position. Then, using Her right foot to widen my stance and with a note of scorn in Her voice asked, “Haven’t you been trained to keep your legs spread at all times?”

       “Yes, Mistress.  Sorry, Mistress,” this said as i spread my legs even further than She had indicated.

       With that, Mistress settled Herself gracefully onto my back, using me as a bench while She waited for the valet to bring Her car.

       “Comfy?” She asked, bending over and looking down at me.

       “Yes, Mistress, very,” i replied ... and was immediately sorry ... with good reason.  Simultaneously, Mistress grabbed a handful of my hair with Her right hand and with Her left slapped me hard between my spread legs, hitting my balls with great force.  i nearly collapsed at the pain, fighting back reflexes to cover my balls, retch, gasp for breath, and scream all at the same time.  Mistress settled my bucking, by settling Herself down harder on my back.  Then, with great composure and cool, measured words said: “I will not tolerate impertinence.  The proper answer to a question such as that one is ‘my comfort is irrelevant, Mistress ... but i hope You are comfortable, Mistress’ ... or something like that. Do you understand, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i replied, having regained some of my composure.

       “That was just a smack, boy, a small warning.  Show Me such impertinence again and you’ll get a full-blown ball whipping.  Understood?”

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       If there was to be any more on this subject, it was cut short by the arrival of Mistress’s car.  The valet pulled it to the curb, exited, and walked over, kneeling before Mistress and handing Her the keys, with a simple, “Your car, Ma’am.”

       Taking the keys, but otherwise paying no attention to the valet, Mistress rose and snapped Her fingers thrice, which i appropriately interpreted as a sign to rise.  Mistress took hold of my leash and led me to the driver’s side, explaining that She was going to teach me how to escort a Womyn to Her car.

       “Kneel,” She said, as She prepared to climb into the vehicle.  “Good.  Now, once I am seated, you will take the leash, walk around to the other side of the car, and get in.”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i replied, reaching out my right hand for the leash.

       WHACK.  Mistress’s hand struck mine, stinging it.  “Bad boy.  A leash is a sign of power and control ... and a slave like you should never, ever hold it in his hand.  Rather, you will hold it as an eager puppy does ... in your mouth.”

       With that, She held out the leash for me to take in my mouth and motioned for me to rise and walk around to the other side of the car, which i did quickly. Getting into the car on the other side, i sank down into the soft, warm leather of the seat ... immediately spreading my legs as wide as i could to show Mistress that i had learned my lesson.

       “Very good, boy; you are learning quickly.  That makes it easier to reach you, should i want to play with my toys.”

       Mistress fastened Her seat belt before continuing.    “And you are to remember, pet, that sitting like this is generally reserved for Superiors and is a privilege for a slave.  There is an old saying that boys are normally limited to three positions ... on their feet for work in kitchen, on their knees for service in the parlor, and on their backs — or bellies — for pleasure in the bedroom.  Sitting, even in a car, is a rare treat.  Enjoy it.”

       “Yes, Mistress ... thank You, Mistress,” was my prompt reply.

       When i reached, rather automatically, to buckle my seat belt, Mistress stopped me sharply.  “Do We buckle pets into a car?  No, I don’t think so.  And that’s exactly what you are, pet.  Beside, that belt would spoil my view of My new toys.”

       As She started the car and pulled it out of the parking lot, Mistress placed Her right hand on my left thigh and petted it lightly.  “I want you to get to know your new home, boy.  So you may lift your head and look out of the car.  Just be sure that you lower it should you turn toward me.”  After that W/we drove in silence for some minutes, Mistress stroking my thigh absentmindedly and me taking in the scenery around me ... the beautiful landscape, the neat houses, the crews of naked male slaves working at different tasks, the occasional leashed slave out on a walk with his Mistress, the billboards all featuring Womyn, the drivers of other cars (all Womyn).

       Several minutes into the drive, i reached up absentmindedly with my right hand to scratch an itch on my hip.  Before i had finished the brief movement, Mistress had tightened Her grip on my left thigh and sharply told me, “Don’t do that, boy,” which caused me to drop my hand immediately.  Perhaps in response to the puzzled look that must have crossed my face, Mistress continued.  “The area between a boy’s navel and his knees is his Mistress’s playground. As are his nipples and butt.  Those areas are for My hands to touch, not yours.  It is considered extremely bad manners for a boy to touch himself in any of those places when in the presence of Womyn, without explicit permission to do so.  Even when not in the presence of Womyn, you should touch those areas only to clean them ... and I do want them kept very clean.  Is that clear to you, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress.  Please forgive me, Mistress,” i replied, feeling certain that some sort of apology was in order.

       “That’s alright, boy,” Mistress said, running Her hand up and down my thigh, “you have a lot to learn.”

       After a few minutes in silence, Mistress cleared Her throat and began to speak to me, as always in a measured, confident tone.  “As a general rule, boy, you need to understand that the life you once lived ... back home, before the war ... is over.  I do not want you thinking about it, or dwelling upon it.  It is over ... and the less time you think about it, the better.  your new life is here ... as My slave, My pet, My property.  You will need to focus on this ... learning your place, My rules, and My expectations ... these will take all of your concentration and effort.  Do you understand me, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i replied softly.

       “But,” She continued, “I do want to know some things about your background; things that  were not included in the auction notes.  As always, make your answers quick and brief.  What did you do before the war, boy?”

       “i was a teacher, Mistress,” i answered plainly ... but immediately knew that i’d done something wrong as She sharply slapped the inside of my left thigh, which She had been petting.  Then She took a deep breath, shook Her head slightly, and spoke with a measure of concern.  “The word ‘I’ is a personal pronoun, boy, and it is properly used only by persons ... and here that means Womyn.  As you should already know, males like yourself are considered property, not persons, and are not allowed to refer to themselves as such.  When you refer to yourself, you will use the third person singular.  When speaking with Me, you will refer to yourself as ‘Your boy’ or ‘Your pet’ or ‘Your slave.’  When talking with other Womyn, you will refer to yourself as ‘this boy’ or ‘this slave.’  Do I make Myself clear, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i gulped.  “Your boy understands.”

       “Good. Then continue ... what kind of teacher were you?”

       “i ... uhm ... Your boy taught college, Mistress ... politics.”

       “I see,” She said.  “you understand, I hope, that you are not a teacher here ... in any sense.  If anything, you are a pupil, with much to learn if you are to please me ... and spare your butt from numerous beatings.  No one here cares about what you know about politics ... that is a job for Womyn.  I don’t want to ever see you paying attention to politics, watching the news, or expressing any sort of opinion about such matters.  Your duties are entirely domestic ... keeping My house, following My orders, pleasing and pleasuring Me.  What goes on outside of My house, you will take no interest in.  Do I make myself clear, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       “Furthermore, although you are apparently well educated, that too means nothing in this society.  Boys are educated much differently here, trained for their domestic duties of cooking, cleaning, household finance, or whatever.  your education is worthless to you here and you would be wise to accept that.  I will have you re-educated and re-trained for your new chores.  That means that the only things I ever want to see you reading are recipes.  Is that clear?

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       Turning a corner, Mistress resumed petting my leg.  “Did you have a family, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress, Your boy is married.”

       “Was married, boy,” She admonished me sternly.  “you are property ... My property ... now.”

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       “For what it’s worth,” She added, “you are here, sitting naked in My car, bound by My leash, calling Me ‘Mistress’, because your former wife did not want you.  After the Liberation, Womyn in your country were given the opportunity to claim Their former husbands as their slaves.  yours apparently did not want you and allowed you to be put up for auction.

       “Don’t feel badly about that, pet.  I have heard that many Womyn in your former country — and your former wife is probably one of them — preferred to start fresh, with new slaves They knew in no other capacity.  And We shipped over several hundred thousand well-trained boys, who had been raised as male chattel to help ease the transition.”

       She paused and let this sink in.  “Did you have children, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress, one son.”

       “How old?”

       “Sixteen, Mistress.”

       “I see.  That’s plenty old,” She grinned.  “Of course, I don’t know what happened to him, but I’ve heard that many male adolescents were rounded up after Liberation, ‘harvested’, and shipped here for sale.  If he hasn’t already known the traumas of the auction house, he soon will ... just as you have learned them.  And, like you, he will soon wear a collar and learn his proper place ... either here or in your former homeland.”

       Mistress was silent for a few moment, while this too sank in.  Then She continued.... “Should you happen across your son or any other male you knew before the war, you will remember your place ... you are my property, just as the other boy will be property of his Owner.  There is no male hierarchy here; no friends, no fathers, no sons, no uncles, no nephews.  You are simply boys to the Womyn who own you and brothers to each other.”  She looked directly at me as She turned the car into another parking lot.  “Clear?”

       “Yes, Mistress, very clear.”

       “Good,” She said, pulling into a parking place at what looked like a small shopping center.  “Now, you have a small errand to run.  I want you to go into that grocery store and get Me two things: a bottle of red wine for me and a bag of slave chow for you ... to supplement the table scraps I will feed you.”  Handing me two small plastic cards, She said, “You will need these.  The red one is your permit to make purchases, which you will need any time I send you on an errand to fetch something.  The green one is my debit card, which you will use to pay.”  With that, She reached up and unsnapped the leash from my collar.  “Get going.”

       Frozen with dread, i hesitated, then began to plead.  “Please, Mistress, don’t make Your boy do this.”

       Mistress shook Her head slowly.  “Boy?  What’s wrong?”

       “Mistress, please don’t make Your boy do this yet.  It’s too embarrassing, Mistress ... to go in there naked and alone.”  For the first time i could remember in my adult life, i sobbed.

       In response, Mistress laughed, but it was cold laugh and it gave me little cause for cheer. “you are forgetting your place.  Not only are you supposed to obey My orders immediately, but — as property — you are not permitted to have such feelings.  Embarrassment, indeed.  you are mine, boy; all you have is mine; the only possible embarrassment is to Me, if you misbehave, which you had better not do unless you want a very sore butt.”

       She looked at me with a mixture of concern and steely resolve.  “Besides, boy, that is just the way We do things here; you know that.  Males are kept naked, for access and amusement.  you will be no exception ... but this will also make you unexceptional.  The only thing that will make you stand out at all is that you are not fully processed yet ... you’re still furry and incompletely marked ... but since the end of the war, We are used to seeing such things as more and more Zutanian males are imported.  Trust Me, your nakedness will not be noted by many, if any.”

       Mistress sighed and leaned back in Her seat.  “I know that this is difficult for you, but you will do as you have been told.  Now get out of the car, wiggle your sweet little ass into the store, get the items I have told you to get, and then bring them back to me.  W/we have much more to do this afternoon before taking you to your new home.”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i replied, dry-mouthed and choking back a tear.  “Your boy will obey, Mistress.”

       Opening the door, i stepped out of the car, sliding my bare bottom across the soft leather seat, and stood up in the parking lot.  Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, i began walking toward the front door of the grocery store.  Fully aware that Mistress was watching my every step, i moved self-consciously, taking care to swing my hips as i had been ordered to do, to keep my legs parted, to keep my head bowed, and to keep my eyes focused on the ground.  The awareness that my progress was being watched also caused my penis to begin to swell; knowing that i was not allowed to touch it without Mistress’s permission, i tried to will it down as i hurried across the pavement.

       As i approached the doors of the super market, i began to encounter Womyn and their male slaves entering and leaving the store.  Trying my best not to draw any attention to myself, i kept my head down and kept moving until i noticed that males were not entering through the sliding glass doors that the Womyn used.  Rather, as they approached the entrance, all males — even those accompanying their Mistresses on leashes — dropped onto all fours and queued to enter through a small “pet door” to the left of the main entrance.   Of course, i followed the lead of the slaves in front of me and assumed the “puppy position” to enter the store.  As i waited behind several males to enter, i noticed that a Female store employee was keeping watch over the entering males and stopped those who were not leashed and accompanying Womyn, apparently to make sure that they had the requisite ID and credit cards needed for a purchase.  Watching the male two in front of me, i saw that unaccompanied males were expected to hold the cards in their mouths (not in their hands, as i was doing) and were to lift their heads for Her inspection as they approached the pet entrance.  Following his lead, i lifted my head just as She was bending down to cup my chin for inspection ... and She waved me through, after glancing at my cards.

       Entering the store, i again watched the other males and surmised that it was alright to stand, which i did and began to get my bearings.  In many ways, the scene inside the store reminded me of any supermarket at home ... clean, fresh, colorful; there were a row of checkout lines and behind them rows of aisles with vegetables, canned goods, meats, dairy products, household goods.  What was different, of course, was that all of the males were naked and were clearly subordinate to the Womyn in the store.  A bit dazed by the scene, i moved out of the line of males entering through the pet door and stepped aside, taking in some of what i saw.  Several things struck me immediately.  First, most of the males in the store had had their pubic areas shaved completely, making them appear even more naked.  Those who were not completely hairless, seemed to have little patterns of hair deliberately left on, the one i could recognize was of a heart deliberately left above one poor boy’s penis.  A good number of the slaves were completely denuded of all hair below their scalps ... none in their arm pits or on chests or on legs.  i suspected that i, too, would soon be similarly shaved.  Also, like the boys who fetched Mistress’s car, each male wore a brand on his bottom ... or, upon closer inspection, i noticed actually two brands, always on the right butt cheek.  i was to learn later that the bottom brand, a number, was a national identification figure and was unique to each slave.  The upper brand, which was a symbol that varied widely in form but generally looked like a cattle brand used by ranchers, was a larger and represented a family “mark”, sometimes with smaller sub-symbols added to identify which member of a family owned a particular boy.  Had i been more observant, i would also have noticed that each boy had a small mark on his left hip as well, but that was something i was to learn about later.  Another thing i noticed was that virtually all of the boys had other body modifications, mainly piercings.  Nipple piercings and penis piercings were the most common i noticed, with several slaves being led around by leashes snapped onto what i knew were called Prince Albert rings ... although i doubted that such a patriarchal term was used in this society.  One unfortunate boy was being led through the checkout by a leather lead that snapped onto a cock ring and then ran through a large ring piercing his nose, forcing him to bend over as he was pulled along.

       i was just beginning to notice also that some boys had been decorated with colorful tattoos when a sharp sting cut across my bottom and snapped me out of my observations.  i had not noticed that a Female store employee had observed me standing idly by the door and had approached, a nasty looking quirt held in Her hand.

       “Boy, are you here running an errand for your Mistress?”

       Startled, i grasped for an answer, fortunately remembering both my task and my manners. “Yes, Ma’am, Mistress sent this boy on an errand.”

       “Then get to it, boy,” She said, slapping me again with the quirt, softly this time.  “Don’t lollygag and waste Her time.”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i answered with a reply that was becoming habitual and quickly headed off, past the check out lines and toward the aisles.  i quickly found the wine section, where two Womyn were examining the selection of reds.  Knowing that deference was expected of me, i stood quietly to one side in a pose i hopes fairly breathed humility ... head bowed low, eyes cast to the floor, arms crossed at the base of my spine, legs slightly parted.   The Womyn carefully examined and discussed half a dozen or more bottles.  After glancing at me several times, but in no way hurrying Their decision, the two Womyn settled on a wine and added it to Their cart ... which was pulled by a teen-aged slave who apparently belonged to One of Them.  i winced when i noticed that he pulled the shopping cart with some difficulty and pain by a lead that was attached to his scrotum, a method that i would soon learn my Mistress often used to punish minor household infractions.

       After the Womyn moved down the aisle, i began examining the different wines.  Entirely unfamiliar with the labels, i chose one that had a colorful picture in the mid price range and prayed that Mistress would find it satisfactory.  Then i began to look for the other item Mistress had commanded me to get, slave chow.  Reflecting, i suspect, my growing acceptance of my position, i assumed that slave chow would be found in the pet food section and headed there quickly, aware that Mistress was waiting on my return.  Indeed, the large selection of slave foods was intermingled with the pet supplies ... with some products being listed a suitable for both boys and dogs.  It quickly confronted me, however, that as with pet food, slave food could be purchased in either canned or dry-bagged variety.  Since Mistress had not stipulated which She would feed me, i was on my own to make a decision.  Quickly checking the prices, i noticed that the canned foods were considerably more expensive, so decided that a bag of dry food was the safer option ... if Mistress were upset with me for making the wrong choice, i could plead that i had assumed a poor slave such as me did not deserve anything better than dry food.

       As i was reaching for a medium size sack of the dry kibble (a popular brand called “Boy Soy”), i was interrupted by a sharp comment directed my way by a young Womyn who had approached on my right.

       “boy, reach up there and get me two cans of the chicken-flavored slave chow,” came the order.

       Not entirely sure that She was addressing me, i turned a bit toward Her and ... keeping my head humbly bowed ... enquired: “Are You speaking to this boy, Ma’am?”

       With an exaggerated look down both lengths of the aisle and with an exasperated edge to Her tone, She replied, “Of course I’m speaking to you, boy ... do you see any other slave around?”

       As She addressed me, i had a chance to observe that She was a very young Womyn, probably no more than fourteen or fifteen.  But you would never have known that from Her voice or demeanor ... or the wicked looking crop in Her left hand.  i would learn a hard lesson over the next several months that Womyn here learned very early how to control their boys, and that teenage Womyn were often the cruelest and Ones quickest to assert their dominance with the lash.

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i responded automatically and reached up on tiptoe to the top shelf.  As i was doing so, i felt the Womyn’s crop lightly graze my bottom, causing me to freeze and swallow hard.

       “You must be quite new, boy; you’re not even shaved yet, much less branded.”

       “Yes, Ma’am, this boy was a POW and was just purchased today, Ma’am,” i blurted out, bringing the cans down and holding them out to Her.

       Ignoring the cans, She gave me a careful once over and said with a bit of sneer, “I wish I had the money to buy an untrained boy like you ... breaking you in would be a joy.”   With that, She turned away and started up the aisle, saying casually over Her shoulder, “And believe Me, I’d make you beg for the privilege of eating canned food, boy.”

       Once She had turned the corner of the aisle, i put the two cans back on the top shelf, selected the bag of Boy Soy, and headed for the check out lines.

       Walking toward the front of the store, something registered that i had seen when i had entered.  Of the dozen or so checkout counters, only the one on the far left had any sort of line ... and the line was composed entirely of unaccompanied males, some six deep who knelt as they waited in line.  At the other counters, which seemed to be moving much more quickly, there were no more than two Womyn waiting in line.  Having learned quickly to follow the example of other males, i went to the line on the end and took my place kneeling behind the last boy.  As i shuffled forward on my knees, i lifted my head slightly to watch the store.  Among other things, i noticed that each of the other counters was being worked by a team of two naked males, each wearing a brand that matched the store logo.  One of the males quickly scanned the items; the other bagged the groceries; both showed the greatest deference and respect to the Womyn who came through the lines.

       The situation was much different in the line i was in, as i observed as i shuffled closer to the cashier.  Behind this counter there were not two males, but one rather stern looking Female, who appeared not so much there to provide service as to ensure that each unaccompanied male had the proper identification to make purchases ... a task apparently not entrusted to the male cashiers.  Each male remained kneeling until his turn came to place his items on the conveyer belt and he was given permission to stand by the Female cashier, who did so with a rather surly motion of Her hand.  After they had risen, they each stuck out their left hip toward Her and She moved a handheld scanner over their left buttocks; only then did She scan their items and demand the cards ... red and green ... from each.  Running the cards through a credit card reader, She handed them back to the boys, whom i noticed always took them in their mouths, never their hands.  Then, the males were left to bag their own groceries, which they did quickly, but often not quickly enough to escape a sharp word from the Womyn behind the counter.

       When my turn came, i tried to emulate as best i could the behavior i had seen from the boys ahead of me in line.  After being given permission to stand and having put my items on the conveyer belt, i pushed my hip out to give the Woman easy access to my left buttock.  A bit taken aback by my appearance (that is the presence of body hair and the lack of normal male markings), She ordered me curtly to turn completely around.

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i replied and turned 360 degrees to give Her a full view of my body, including an erection that was beginning to bob back to life under Her scrutiny.

       “Are you new, boy?” She asked.

       “Yes, Ma’am.  i ... er ... this boy was a P.O.W., Ma’am, and was just purchased today.”

       “Hmmph,” She grunted.  “Let me see your ass cheek again, boy.”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i answered and complied at once, sticking out my left hip, which She touched with the cold scanner.  Beside Her, something in the computerized register whirred and gave a soft ping.

       “Well, boy, you’re in the system already,” She said and began to scan the wine and slave chow without further comment ... only holding out Her hand for Mistress’s two cards, which i gave Her immediately and retrieved with my mouth after She had run them through the computer.  She did not have to tell me to hurry with the bagging, since i moved swiftly to place both items into a plastic bag.

       With these bags firmly in hand and Mistress’s card still held in my mouth, i headed for the exit, remembering at the last moment to use the “puppy door.”  Outside, i stood and began to walk across the parking lot toward Mistress’s car, fighting the urge to use the bag to cover my nakedness, and reminding myself to swing my hips and allow my half erect penis to swing freely for Mistress’s view.  Approaching the car, i opened the door and slid back into the passenger’s seat.

       “It took you long enough, boy,” was Mistress’s icy greeting.

       “Your boy is sorry, Mistress,” i replied.  “Your boy was unfamiliar with the store, and was stopped and examined by several Womyn, Mistress,” remembering both the cashier and the young Womyn who had noticed my lack of an ownership brand.

       “Oh, you were, were you?  Well, new boys sometimes attract attention.   It won’t be as bad once I’ve had you properly shaved, marked, and pierced ... then you’ll blend in better.”

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       “In the meantime, pet, enjoy the attention.”

       Mistress started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, placing Her right hand back proprietorially on my left thigh, after pulling my legs further apart with a tug and a warning glance.  W/we traveled in silence for several minutes.

       “Mistress, may Your boy speak?.”

       “Yes ... you may.”

       “Mistress, when i was checking out, the cashier scanned my bottom before allow me to purchase the wine and slave feed.  Why did She do that?”

       “She was checking Your SIPPY mark, boy.  SIPPY ... Slave Identification and Position Mark,” Mistress anticipated my next question and spelled out the acronym.  “Each slave is marked with a unique computer code tattooed on their left ass cheek.  It is tiny, hard to see without a magnifying glass.  As I understand it, it’s also quick and painless ... you might not even have realized it was being done.  It’s one of the best ways We have of keeping track of slaves and catching those foolish enough to run away.  Every time you purchase anything, board an airline or train, take a bus, your SIPPY mark will be scanned.  Run-away slaves can be tracked and captured. What’s more, all SIPPY information is stored on computer, meaning that I can check immediately to see what you have purchased ... and will know if you buy anything without permission or go anywhere without permission.  And I’d had best never catch you doing either, boy,” this last statement punctuated with a tap of Her long, lovely fingers on my thigh.

       “No, Mistress,” came my automatic reply.

       W/we had driven several more miles through the well-kept city in silence when i heard a muffled ringing somewhere in the car.  Mistress lifted Her hand from my thigh, pointed to the large leather handbag on the floor by my feet, and instructed me to “fetch” Her cell phone. 

       When i had retrieved the small, sleek phone and was about to hand it to Her, She said, “Hold on, boy.  I’m going to teach you the proper way to answer My phone, which will one of your many household tasks.  Press the blinking ‘On’ button and say: ‘Hello. Ms. Lydia Gates’ office. This is Ms. Gate’s personal slave speaking. How may this boy help You?’  And you had better sound happy and eager to serve.”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i replied, pressed the button just after the fifth ring, and repeated the salutation precisely as She had dictated, trying to sound subservient if not exactly overjoyed.

       Across a crystal clear connection came a commanding Womyn’s voice, “Yes, boy, is She in?”

       “Yes, Ma’am, She is,” i answered and held out the receiver for Mistress, who took it from me without a word.

       Reflecting on the fact that i now knew my Owner’s name, i tried not to appear overly interested in the side of the conversation i could hear, but hung on every word.

       “This is Lydia....  Yes, I did, and he’s a nice specimen. ... Why thank you. ... Yes, I’m in the car and on my way now.  I have just turned onto the Parkway, so I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes late for the appointment. ... No, nothing special or elaborate, just a normal set of before shots. ... No, that shouldn’t take much, he’s in good shape. ... No, nothing at all like that. ... OK, thanks for calling. ... See you in a bit.”

       With that, Mistress clicked off the phone and handed it to me, indicating by pointing that i should return it to Her handbag.  She said nothing to me to explain the call.

       Mistress drove in silence for several minutes, then returned Her hand to my thigh and asked: “Are you curious about that call, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress, i am.”

       “Well, i am glad that you were able to keep your curiosity in check and not pester me with questions,” She said.  “Curious boys often get themselves into trouble.  I will tell you the things you need to know, and you must learn to be satisfied with that.  Understood?”

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       Several more minutes passed in silence.  “The call was from a photography studio, where W/we are headed next,” Mistress finally informed me.  “It has become common practice for new slaves to be photographed before they are marked and personalized by their new Mistresses.  This is most commonly done when a boy is first vended outside of the family, in his early- to mid-teens; but it is becoming more and more common for boys your age who have been re-sold.  With this influx of foreign boys, the studios are doing tons of business.”

       i swallowed hard at the thought of the coming indignity and started mentally preparing myself for it.

       “I hope you’re not camera shy, boy,” She said turning to look at me.

       Thinking that a negative reply was probably the only acceptable one, i replied, “No, Ma’am.”

       “Good, because this Womyn really is an excellent photographer.  And i want some good pictures of You au natural before i have you customized.  Over the past several weeks, you have become accustomed to your new status and to being nude in the presence of Womyn, and I want that to show in the pictures.  Alright?”

       “Yes, Mistress,” was the only possible reply.

       After several more minutes, several more turns, and several more miles, Mistress turned the car into a lot and parked beside an unassuming red brick building.  Taking the keys from the ignition, She turned to me, took my chin in Her strong fingers, and forced me to look at Her.  Although She lifted my chin, i kept my eyes lowered demurely and swallowed hard.

       “Boy, I expect excellent, obedient behavior out of you at all times, but especially when W/we are in public.  How you behave in public reflects directly on Me, on how I train you and handle you and control you.  you had better be on your best behavior.  Do I make myself clear, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       “I don’t like punishing boys in public, but I will if necessary.  And believe you Me, you do not want your first whipping to be a public one.  Trust Me, you will want that to be in private ... because you have a lot to learn about begging for mercy and it will be humiliating enough without having to learn it while O/others watch.”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i responded when She paused.

       As She released my chin and starting looking for the leash, which She re-attached to my collar, She continued: “Alright, then, take your leash, get out, and come around and get my door,” She said, holding out the leash for me to take in my mouth, which i did.

       After i had opened Her door, i knelt and watched Her swing Her long, shapely legs out of the car.  She brushed down Her dark blue business skirt, replaced Her elegant sunglasses, closed and locked the car, and then reached down to take the leash.  With a pat on my head, two snaps of Her fingers, and a tug on the leash, W/we walked up the steps and into the office building, me “heeling” except when i stepped ahead to open the door. 

       Inside, She paused to remove Her glasses and give me a final lookover before leading me down the wide corridor, past a succession of offices, turning into the fourth office on the left, where a sign on the glass door read:

Aurelia Studios

Specializing in the male Form

Mistress led me into the anteroom and up to a desk where a lovely, cheerful young receptionist was working.  As W/we stopped, Mistress snapped Her fingers twice and pointed to the ground immediately beside Her.  Dropping immediately to my knees, i listened closely to the conversation going on above me as Mistress slowly stroked my hair.

       “Good afternoon.  How may I help you?”

       “My name is Lydia Gates, and i have a 2:00 for a shoot of a new slave. I believe we just talked on the phone.”

       “Ah, yes, we did,” the receptionist responded.  “We are just about ready for you.  If you could just fill out this form and then we can discuss what sort of print package you would like.”

       As Mistress filled out the form, i noticed Her rich scent, which blended together the aroma of Her musky perfume and the powerful scent of the leather of Her pumps and the riding crop that was never far from Her hand.  It was a heady fragrance that i would come to know well in the coming weeks, and increasingly associate with Her power and my submission.

       The receptionist talked with Mistress for a few minutes, explaining which packages were available at what cost.  When Mistress had made Her decision, the receptionist invited Her to have a seat in the waiting area and told Her that Ms. Aurelia would be ready for U/us shortly.  With that, Mistress snapped Her fingers for me to rise and led me across the room to the waiting area where several other Mistresses and their slaves where already seated and kneeling, respectively.  Taking Her seat in one of the plush chairs provided for the Womyn, Mistress pointed at a space beside Her ... on the carpet, thankfully, rather than the hardwood floor ... where i was to kneel.  As Mistress reached for a magazine to read and continued to stroke my head (in an effort to keep me calm, i suspect), i took the opportunity to take some furtive glances around the room ... all the while keeping my head bowed and eyes demurely lowered, keenly aware of Her warning about being on my best behavior.

       The room was lushly appointed and decorated in a very artistic style.  On the walls hung numerous enlarged photographic portraits of male nudes, apparently examples of Ms. Aurelia’s work.  Most of the pictures on the walls showed very young males, in their early teens, much like the three other slaves kneeling with me in the waiting area ... their slim bodies and blossoming organs frozen in black and white closeup, completely nude, lacking even the collar i was becoming all too accustomed to wearing and seeing on other males.  None of the pictures showed the boys making eye contact with the camera, and i would soon learn that like making eye contact with a Womyn this was considered to be an act of impertinence that typically invited physical punishment.  A few of the portraits showed the boys with their Owners, usually making some explicit display of their submission, such as kissing the Woman’s feet or holding their genitals up for examination.  Several of the pictures showed older boys, in their 20s or 30s, “re-sold slaves” as Mistress called them.  And one picture, which i could just barely see out of the corner of my eye, showed an older slave with a grossly enlarged belly that fully hid his genitals from sight.  As i shifted slightly to try to get a better view of this intriguing print, i felt Mistress grab a handful of the hair She had been petting gently and wrench my head up.  Leaning down out of Her chair, She whispered icily in my ear: “Be still.”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i gulped out, lowering my head deeply when She released Her grip.  From the sounds of magazines being rustled and seats shifting, i knew that the other Womyn in the room had looked up to see what had happened, and my face burned in humiliation.

       Fortunately, i did not have long to stew in my disgrace.  The phone on the receptionist’s desk rang softly and, after She had spoken into it for a few moments and replaced it, She rose and walked across the room toward U/us.

       “Ms. Gates, Ms. Aurelia is ready for you.  Please follow me.”

       “Thank you,” Mistress replied to the receptionist, then replaced Her magazine, rose gracefully from Her chair, took my leash, and snapped Her fingers twice.  When i was barely back on my feet, She tugged on the leash and W/we followed the receptionist across the room, through a door, and into the studio proper.  As W/we crossed the studio, i noticed all the usual appurtenances i would have seen in any photographer’s studio back home: tripods, lights, various cameras, light tables for viewing slides, screens, backdrops, props.  But here, several naked boys also scurried around, moving various bits of apparatus to and fro.

       Near the back of the large room, the receptionist led U/us to a Woman i could tell was Ms. Aurelia.  She was considerably older than Mistress, perhaps in Her early 40s, with blonde hair tied up in a pony tail, and very sleekly dressed in tight black pants and a cropped white silk blouse.  As the receptionist introduced Mistress to Her, i heard the by-now-familiar two snaps of the fingers and dropped quickly to my knees.

       “I’m very happy you had an open slot and could work us in this afternoon, Aurelia. I just love your work,” i heard Mistress say.

       “My pleasure, Sis.  I have done several of these shoots lately with reparation slaves and have found it quite pleasant.  It can get a bit monotonous  seeing just the really young bucks; it’s a nice break to work with males who are a bit more developed.  May I?”

       “Absolutely, Aurelia. Go right ahead.”

       With that, Ms. Aurelia placed Her manicured hand under my chin and told me softly to stand, which i did immediately.

       “Have you named him yet, Sis?” Ms. Aurelia asked.

       Mistress shook Her head.  “Not yet.  I want to get to know him a bit before choosing a name.”

       “That’s wise; I’m sure you’ll choose an appropriate name for him. He’s a very nice specimen ... and I’m sure he cost you a pretty penny.” 

       “Well, these foreign boys do not come cheaply ... even for mediocre ones, the novelty factor inflates the market price significantly.  But I fully intend to get my money’s worth,” Mistress chuckled.  “One of the senior vice presidents in my division at work bought one of the first P.O.W.s to come on the market in this region, you know, one of those who agreed to accept matriarchy more than a year before the war ended.  And she had such a good time training him and he became such a good slave that I made up my mind to buy one as soon as the prices started falling.  And here I am.”

       As She talked with Mistress, Ms. Aurelia ran Her long fingers along my face, turning it this way and that to see the profiles.  “Your boy has wonderful facial lines, Sis, especially along the jaw; he has kept some of his boyish angularity, yet in a more mature face.  And the pale blue of his eyes is quite lovely.”  She moved Her hands to my lips.  “Open,” a command i knew was directed at me.  She lifted my lips and examined my teeth.  “Strong teeth and a lovely smile, too.”

       Having completed Her examination of my face, She pushed my chin down with Her finger and started moving Her hands down my torso, simultaneously nudging my feet apart with Hers.  “All the ones I’ve seen want to keep their legs together, a nasty habit that they need to be broken of quickly.”

       “Yes,” Mistress answered, slapping me sharply on the bottom, not at all pleased. “I’ve had to warn him about that several times already.”

       Ms. Aurelia continued Her survey of me, thinking aloud as She did so.  “Mmmm.  Nipples are small, but nice.  They’ll look lovely with a bit of highlighting.  Cute navel.  Belly is just a tad soft, but we can hide that a bit, if you would like.  Thick pubic hair ... backlighting may work to good effect on that.  Hmmm, nice cock, well pronounced head, good shape, nice ring size.  And, Sis, lucky you ... it’s still uncut.  Yum-yum.”  At this last, i was sure that a knowing glance was exchanged between the two Womyn, but i was too petrified by the on-going examination to think much about it.

       “The ball sac is tight and hangs too close to the body,” Mistress interjected.  “I’ll have the vet stretch it, but for the time being can you work with it?”

       “Of course, Sis, no need to worry” Ms. Aurelia reassured my Owner and continued Her survey of my body.  “Solid thighs, very nice gams ... you’ll have to bring him back when they’re properly shaved.  Turn around, boy.”

       When i complied, turning on my heels to show Her my backside, She firmly grabbed my butt cheeks with both hands.  “Oh, what a darling little ass; very firm, nice shape.  You will have a great time with this, Sis.  And we’ll have to get a couple of good shots from behind.”  Turning, apparently to bark at one of Her male assistants, She said loudly, “pookie, bring the powder and blush.”

       Somewhere, well out of my limited line of vision, came the meek reply, “Yes, Mistress Aurelia, immediately.”

       To Mistress, Ms. Aurelia asked, “I assume that you want these crop welts on his ass covered?”

       “Yes, please.  I want him to look absolutely virginal.”

       “Good,” Ms. Aurelia said and directed pookie, who had knelt behind me, to cover the weals completely.  As he did so, the photographer told Mistress that She had some ideas for some posings and asked if Mistress wanted to be included in any of the shots, to which Mistress replied that She wanted one or two to include both of U/us, but that mainly She wanted pictures of what i looked like on my “birthday.”

       “Fine.  Then let’s get started,” Ms. Aurelia said energetically, simultaneously unbuckling the collar that had been around my neck since i had arrived at the auction house almost a week before.  Moving around in front of me, She took my cock in Her strong, warm hand and led me rather more gently than i expected toward one of the small stages, which was decorated with a blue backdrop and a soft, fur rug.  Telling me to stand upright for a moment, She directed pookie to hand me the “board,” and then She moved behind a camera mounted on a tripod.  The “board” turned out to be a small, rectangular electronic board that identified me by Mistress’s name and also included the date of the shoot and some other information.  When pookie handed it to me, i instinctively placed it in front of me, low enough to cover my naked genitals.

       Ms. Aurelia immediately looked up from the camera, more amused than cross ... although i noticed an irritated frown on Mistress’s face.  “C’mon, you know better than that, boy.  Lift that up.  Never hide your best parts, especially from the camera.”

       Complying immediately with Ms. Aurelia’s order, i lifted the sign to my chest and muttered softly, “Sorry, Ma’am.”

       After She had taken several shots of me with the sign, She instructed pookie to take it from me and then turned to me.  “O.K.  Now, I want you to lie down there on your belly, boy, right on the fur, facing this way.  pookie, turn on both lights and the backlight.  sammie, bring me both the AX-4 camera and the box.”  pookie and sammie, who hurriedly appeared from somewhere else in the studio, immediately did as told and then knelt beside Ms. Aurelia, awaiting further orders.

       “Boy, i want you to relax, be expressive, and do as I tell you.  Never look directly at the camera; keep your eyes lowered, unless I tell you to look in some other direction.  Alright?  Let’s get started.  Rise up on your elbows and place your chin in your hands ... and keep your legs spread wide behind you ... don’t make me keep telling you that.”

       For the next ten minutes or so, Ms. Aurelia took dozens of shots of me splayed out on the rug, in all sorts of poses ... on my belly; on my belly with my legs bent at the knees; on hands and knees; on hands and elbows; on my knees with my face on the rug and arms crossed behind my back; on both side; on my back; on my back caressing my nipples; on my back, legs in the air; on my back, stroking my cock, then my balls; from the front, then the back, then above ... alternately telling me to show humility, desire, submission, playfulness, an erect cock, a flaccid cock, moistened lips, parted lips, pain, pleasure.  Beside Ms. Aurelia, Mistress watched with interest, apparently quite satisfied with what She saw.

       Running out of film, Ms. Aurelia handed the camera to one of Her boys and told me to relax for a few minutes, that i was doing just fine.  When She got the camera back, She told me to follow Her to a different little set.  This one had a large bed on it, covered with a dark purple satin sheet.  “Hop up on the bed, boy.”

       On the cool, smooth sheets, i was once again put through my paces, as Ms. Aurelia moved me one from seductive, submissive pose to another.  Then, stopping again, She instructed sammie to hand me a long length of thick, dark pink ribbon.

       “Let’s get some shots of you with this, boy.  I want you to play with it enticingly ... run it between your legs, play with it, tongue it ... be sensual.”

       When She had taken a variety of shots of this nature, Ms. Aurelia stopped again, stepped out from behind the camera, and walked toward me.

       “Now,” She said, “I want you to take the ribbon and bind up your cock and balls with it.  Make it tight and pretty ... with a nice little bow.  Pretend that your Mistress is fixing you up as a gift to Her best friend.  sammie can give you a hand, if you don’t know what to do.”

       With hands that were shaking a bit, i did my best to obey Ms. Aurelia’s instructions, drawing upon my experience from years ago when i had worked one holiday at the gift wrapping counter of a department store.  Winding the ribbon several times around my cock and balls, and then once around my balls to lower them, i tied a large bow atop my cock.

       “That’s perfect, boy,” Ms. Aurelia commented, straightening the bow and pulling some pubic hairs away from my now fully engorged cock.  “Kneel up, let me get a couple of pictures of that, and W/we’ll be about done.”

       After taking shots of me fully bound in this manner — including a series of close-ups that cropped my face and that Mistress, much to my humiliation, would use to decorate Her cards in the coming holiday season — Ms. Aurelia turned to Mistress and asked if She were ready for a couple of pictures of U/us together.  When Mistress responded that She was, Ms. Aurelia instructed sammie to unbind me and lead me to the corner stage.

       There, Ms. Aurelia posed us in half a dozen or so arrays, in positions that clearly indicated my submission.  The one that Mistress liked best — and which She would have enlarged and framed on the mantle — was one of Her holding Her crop behind Her back, and taken from a low angle so that i could been seen between Her legs (softened and slightly out of focus), kneeling humbly somewhat in front of Her.

       When these poses were completed, Ms. Aurelia invited Mistress to join Her at the reception desk for a few moments and instructed pookie to replace my collar, clean the powder from my butt, and then to bring me back to the front office.  When i spoke to thank him for doing these tasks, pookie gave a quick shake of his head indicating that speech was not permitted and motioned for me to follow him.

In the reception area, Mistress and Ms. Aurelia were standing by the desk, discussing when the proof sheets would be ready and when i would be brought back for the “after” shots with the young Womyn receptionist.  Without having to be told, i knelt humbly beside Mistress and pookie did the same at Ms. Aurelia’s side.  When these discussions were completed, Ms. Aurelia stroked my hair and told me i had done very well, and that She was sure my Owner was quite proud of me.  When i was  a bit slow to respond, Mistress admonished me, “Thank Ms. Aurelia, boy,” which i did immediately.  Then, shaking hands with the photographer, Mistress snapped the leash back onto my collar, snapped Her fingers twice, and W/we departed.  

Back in the car, Mistress told me that W/we had one more stop … the vet’s office.  W/we drove there in silence, with me rather drained from my time before the camera, and still embarrassed about how easily Ms. Aurelia had turned me into a sexual plaything to capture on film and how much that had excited me.  The drive was not long, however, and within a few minutes Mistress had turned the car into the parking lot beside another impressive office building on a perfectly manicured boulevard. Turning off the car, leaning back, and checking Her watch, Mistress spoke to me softly.

“Inside, the Vet is going to examine You thoroughly and then will begin the process of personalizing you for my use.  I think it is safe to say that you will find some of these things to be degrading, somewhat frightening, and a bit painful.  I will guarantee you, though, that if you are obedient and well-behaved, things will go much easier for you. O.K.?”

       “Yes, Mistress,” i responded, trying to steel myself for what was to come.

       “Alright, then you know the drill.  Get out and show Me what you have learned about helping your Mistress out of the car.”

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       i must have performed flawlessly, because Mistress said nothing as i got out of my door, crossed to Her side of the car, opened Her door, knelt, and waited for Her to take the leash i held in my mouth.  Rather, She casually collected Her handbag, stepped from the car, closed and locked Her door, took the leash, and snapped Her fingers for me to rise.  And, without a word, She led me into the building, down a broad hallway, and into a office marked:

Drs. Venable, Smythe, Moreaux, and Thorne – DVM

Specializing in the Treatment and Training of males

As W/we entered the office, i noticed several people in the waiting room on the right, but did not have time to see much, because Mistress had immediately approached the office window and snapped Her fingers for me to kneel beside Her.  Once again, i breathed in the deep, rich fragrance of Her perfume and leather, listening as She talked with the receptionist, who seemed to recognize Her immediately.

“Hello, Ms. Gates, did you bring kip by for a check-up?”

“No, no, I sold kip last week and am bringing my new boy by; he’s one of the P.O.W.s.  I’m sure that kip’s new Owner will let you know where to send his records.”

“Of course.  And how exciting for you,” said the receptionist, as She shuffled some papers.  “We haven’t seen many of the foreign boys yet.  When the first one came in last month, all of us wanted to help with the examination … three vets and eight technicians.  He got handled pretty well,” She laughed softly at the memory.

Mistress replied in kind.  “I bet he was terrified.”

“Yes he was, but we took good care of him, and his Owner says he’s doing nicely,” the receptionist said.  “In fact, he was in last week and you would never have known he hadn’t been raised right here and trained since birth to be a slave.  Now, you’ll need to fill out this form and give me any records you have on him for us to copy for our files.”

“Sure; here’s the disk with his information from the auction house and his papers.”

“Thank you, Ms. Gates.  I’ll get these back to you before you leave today.  Have you named him yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” Mistress replied.  “I’m going to take a couple of days and get to know him a bit, then pick a name that I feel is appropriate.”

“May I take a look at him?”

“Of course, Sis.  But keep in mind that he will look a good deal better after you folks are finished with him.” Mistress laughed and snapped Her fingers twice.

i stood immediately and kept my head humbly bowed as the young Womyn behind the reception counter gave me an appreciative look.  “Quite nice, Sis.  Quite nice, indeed.”  She reached across and gently lifted my chin.  “If it’s alright with you, I’m going to call him blueeyes until you pick a name for him, Sis.”

“That’s fine.  I might even consider that for his permanent name.” Mistress laughed again and, with a tug on my leash, led me away from the reception counter and over to the waiting area.  As in the photography studio, Mistress took a seat in what appeared to be a plush chair, motioned for me to kneel beside Her, and began thumbing through a magazine.  And, as in the studio, i took advantage of the opportunity to examine the room.

There were four Womyn sitting in the waiting area, each accompanied by a kneeling slave.  At the far end, sat a very young Woman, maybe in Her late teens.  The slave who knelt in front of Her was old enough to be Her father, maybe even Her grandfather; he had thick gray hair, but was obviously still in great physical shape.  And the difference in T/their ages certainly did not affect Her authority or his obedience, as he followed Her humbly when T/they were called into the examination rooms.  Directly across from Mistress sat a stylish older Womyn, perhaps in Her late fifties.  At Her feet knelt a very young slave; although probably not much more than 16, he was extensively marked and pierced.  Closest to the door by which W/we had come in, sat a strikingly-lovely young Womyn in Her mid-twenties, attended by a boy of about the same age.  Like the slave whose picture i had partially seen in the studio, this slave had a grossly distended belly and it suddenly struck me that he was pregnant.  Of course, i would learn later that the development of an artificial womb several decades earlier had drastically changed child-bearing responsibilities in this Matriarchal society.  For centuries, males had been subservient to Womyn here, but in the last 20 years or so technology had also allowed childbirth to be added to their long list of domestic responsibilities.  This boy looked to be many months along and fairly waddled back to the examination rooms when he and his Owner were called in.

While i had been watching the pregnant boy, Mistress had begun a conversation with the Womyn seated next to Her, discussing the auction where She had purchased me.

“Splendid; it was just splendid,” Mistress said.  “You know how auctions can sometimes get quite boring and predictable, even at the better chattelries?  Well, not today.  There was a real feeling of excitement in the air.  They had all four showrooms going.  There was lots of security.  The bidding got frantic.  And these foreign boys, only partially broken, had everyone in the house a bit wet, Sis.”

“I’ll bet,” the other Womyn chuckled.  “Were the boys well behaved on the auction block?”

“For the most part, yes.  I saw two or three break down sobbing badly enough to be taken from the block before they were sold.  And another two or three had to be severely whipped before they behaved, but each of them ended up being vended for a pretty good price, if I remember right.”

“How did your boy do?   Looks like he needed only a stroke or two to make him mind.”

“Yes,” Mistress answered, stroking my head.  “This one was a pussycat, so cute and so scared on the runway.  The handler had no troubles with him and the two lashes on his butt are there only because one of the Womyn bidding on him wanted to see how he marked before She bid anymore.  And, as you can see, he welts up just fine.”

“May I get a better look at him, Sis?”

“Why certainly.  Stand up, boy, and let this nice Lady have a look at you.”

Silently and obediently, i raised myself to my feet, feeling my face burn at the humiliation of another Womyn’s gaze as i turned toward Her.

“Step up a bit closer,” Mistress said softly.  “Keep your hands at your side, part your legs wider, and turn around slowly so that She may see all of you.”

“Yes, Mistress,” i responded, complying with Her order immediately, exhibiting my nude body for the Womyn’s examination.

“Well, I can certainly see why this one caught your eye,” the Womyn said, using Her crop to lift my ball sac as i completed my piroutte.  “A tight little ass, a well-shaped cock, nice overall build, good color, and well-behaved.  Once you get rid of all that unsightly body hair, work a few pounds off of his middle, and have him properly marked, he’ll be a real prized possession.”

Mistress smiled.  “Thank the nice Womyn for those kind words, boy, and resume your proper place at my feet.”

“Thank You, Ma’am,” i said.

The Womyn nodded in reply.  “Obey your Owner, boy, make Her proud of you … and I’m sure that She will take good care of you.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” i said, settling into a kneel at Mistress’s feet.

Mistress continued to chat with the Womyn as i lowered my eyes to the floor and remembered, after a rather sharp tug on my leash, to spread my knees widely.  In the conversation that took place above my head, the Womyn expressed considerable surprise that a foreign boy like me, so recently in a P.O.W. camp, was so well-behaved and obedient, and had so quickly reconciled myself to the servile disposition expected of me.  Mistress replied, telling the Womyn of what She knew about the training and orientation that new slaves were  given after we were re-classified as spoils of war, and moved from the P.O.W. camp to the chattelry.  Although Mistress got many of the facts wrong, i knew that my place was to remain silent and that She would not appreciate me correcting Her mistakes.

After a few more minutes, the inner door opened and the Womyn from the reception desk leaned out, file in hand.

“Ms. Gates, we’re ready for you.”

“Well, it was nice talking with you, Sis,” Mistress said to the Womyn sitting beside Her, then rose from Her chair, snapped Her fingers twice, and led me toward the inner offices.  At the door, Mistress handed my leash to the receptionist.

“Ms. Gates, you need to go to Dr. Smythe’s office; third door on your right.  She will be with you in just a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” Mistress said to the receptionist warmly.  “Be gentle, but firm with him; he knows that he’s supposed to behave.”  Turning to me, Her voice became firmer, colder.  “Do as you are told, pet.  And remember, your behavior reflects on Me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” i replied softly, as She had already turned to walk down the hall.

“Now, blueeyes,” the receptionist said, holding the other end of my leash up for me to take in my mouth, “I want you to walk down the hall, kneel by those scales, and wait for the technician who will be working with you.  Understand?”

With the leather of the leash filling my mouth, i could do little beside nod  my head, and the receptionist sent me padding down the hallway with a little slap on my butt, which stung only because it hit one of the welts from earlier in the day.  When i arrived at the scales, set off in a corner near where one hallway intersected another, i knelt as ordered and waited patiently, tensing up just a bit at every pair of Womyn’s shoes that i heard passing behind and beside me.

Finally, after several long minutes, i heard a Womyn approach behind me and stop.  She rustled some papers, apparently putting a file down on a table near the scales, then touched me lightly on the shoulder.

“Stand up, boy,” came the command, the voice throaty but young.

Immediately, i complied, remembering to keep my legs widely spread as i rose.

“Turn around.”

When i complied, i found myself facing a petite young Womyn.  Wearing a white lab coat that covered a blue linen blouse and khaki pants, the Womyn was probably in Her early twenties and stood a full head shorter than i did.  Nevertheless, despite Her age and size, She had a commanding presence, and i sensed that She would tolerate nothing but short of total obedience and utter humility from me.

“My name is Adrianne ... Ms. Adrianne to you ... or, simply, Ma’am.  I know that you are new to this, boy, but let’s see how quickly you can get used to Our customs and rules.  I’ll keep my commands simple and try make this as easy on you as I can, but I expect you to obey me instantly and completely.  If you give me any trouble, I guarantee that you will regret it.  Clear?”

With the leash still in my mouth, i bobbed my head up and down, noticing as i did so that several other Womyn were standing at a discrete distance watching the technician talk to me.

“Good.  Now, let’s get that leash off of you,” She said, unclipping if from the d-ring on my collar.  As She placed the leash into one of the pockets on Her lab coat, She told me to turn around and get up on the scale, Her hand on my bottom guiding me.  Once i was standing on the scale, She moved Her hand up my back.  “Cross your wrists at the base of your back and keep them there until I tell you otherwise.  Stand up straight and lift your head,” this said as She manipulated the retractable measuring rod and recorded my height.  That done and entered into my file, She reset the scale and read out the weight measure from the LCD display, noting that a proper slave diet would bring it down and take an inch or two off my of mid-section.

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it, boy?”

“No, Ma’am,” i responded, preparing to step off of the scale, but Her hand in the small of my back held me in place.

“Not so fast.  W/we need to take just a couple more measurements … and these are probably not like those you ever got at home.”  With that, She moved Her hand to my stomach, indicating for me to step backwards slightly on the scale.  Then, reaching down a bit, She flipped up a metal tongue on the post of the scale … much like the one on top that measured height, but this one was at crotch level and also had a ribbon of metal looped over the top.

“Here, a boy’s measurements include not just height and weight, but also cock size and girth … both flaccid and inflated, measured from the underside,” She said, taking my limp cock, threading it through the loop, and placing it upon the cold metal of the measuring rod, then noting and marking the numbers.  Removing my cock after She had obtained the flaccid measurements, She rolled it around for a few seconds in Her thin, strong fingers.  “Hmmm, a foreskin.  Don’t often see that a boy your age … and I hope you’re not too attached to it, because I suspect you won’t have yours for much longer.”

With that, Ms. Adrianne released me and turned to a nearby cabinet, returning with a length of thin rubber tubing.  Deftly, with practiced hands, She looped this around my penis and balls, tying them up tightly and causing an immediate erection despite the sharp pain from the pubic hairs pulled by the tubing.

“That’s a good boy, now I can get your measurements when fully inflated.”  Her hand closed firmly around my engorged cock, pulled it down parallel to the measuring rod, and manipulated it into the girth-measuring metal ring.  Then, measurements taken and entered, She loosened the girth-gauging loop, removed my cock from it, collapsed the metal tongue, and with some care untied the rubber tubing from around my scrotum.  Picking up my file from the table, She said, “Follow me.”

Hands still crossed behind my back, i stepped off the scale and followed the Womyn as She turned to the left down the hallway.  Stopping at an open door about halfway down on the right, She motioned for me to enter ahead of Her.

“Hop up on the exam table, lie back, and put your ankles in the stirrups.”

Doing as i had been told, i climbed onto the table, which looked somewhat like those used in gynecologists offices in my home country.  After i had lain down, Ms Adrianne approached and began securing me to the table.  First, She snapped my collar to a short chain, severely limiting how much i could move my head.  Then She told me to drop both arms off the table and secured my wrists in straps on both sides.  Finally, at the far end of the table, She secured my ankles tightly and then lifted and spread the stirrups, leaving my ass, anus, and scrotum widely exposed.

Moving around to my side, so that i could see Her even with my head restrained, She leaned over me and said, “Comfy, boy … all trussed up like this?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” i replied softly, swallowing hard, fearing that much worse was yet to come.

“If I know your Mistress … and I do … you will find yourself in positions like this a lot.  Not the taker, boy; but the taken.  Nor the subject, but the object.  Get used to it.”

       Saying that, Ms. Adrianne ran Her fingernails up my inner thigh and gently squeezed my scrotum before smiling, picking up my file, and striding from the examination room, closing the door behind Her.

       After waiting a few moments to ensure that no O/one would enter immediately, i began cautiously to test the strength of the straps that bound my head, neck, and torso to the examination table, and the stirrups that lifted my ankles, stretching my legs and exposing my genitalia.  As i had come to expect in my weeks at the auction house, the bonds were quite secure and allowed no chance of escape ...  not that i any longer believed that escape was a real possibility, or even would have known what to do had the bonds given way.  Assuring myself that i had the ability to move only slightly within the tight bonds and to turn my head only a few degrees, i relaxed my efforts and tried to calm myself as i awaited for the door to re-open and for my physical examination to continue.

       Without any clock in the room, i had no idea how long i waited.  i should probably add that i also had no watch.  That had been confiscated from me at the end of the war, when my status changed from a prisoner of war to a spoil of war ... a point that had been drilled into us at the chattelry as we were prepared for what was euphemistically called “vending.”  Like all males in this society, i was becoming used to the fact that my time had no value and that it was often my task simply to wait ... and to keep myself prepared for whenever Womyn had use for me.  my ruminations on this aspect of my new existence were brought to an abrupt ending when i heard the click of heels stop in the hallway, the sound of the door opening behind me, and the voice of my Mistress in mid sentence becoming intelligible as she stepped into the room.  Closing my eyes briefly to gather my strength and gulping back my apprehension at what was to come, i heard two Womyn --- Mistress and another --- cross the short distance to where i was trussed up on the examination table.

       Mistress came into view over me on my right side.  Running Her long fingers in a gentle yet entirely proprietary fashion over my stomach and onto my chest, She leaned down and asked:

       “How are you, boy?”

       A bit surprised to be addressed with such sincere care, my voice broke as i replied:

       “Your boy is fine, Mistress ... but very scared.”

       At this, Mistress laughed.  Not maliciously it seemed, but genuinely bemused that i should be so concerned.  She also moved Her hand down from my chest and ran it in a circle around my stomach ... as with all of Her touches, it was designed to denote Her ownership of me as well as whatever else She was attempting to convey, in this case reassurance.

       “Don’t worry, little one, you are in very good hands here.  Dr. Moreaux and Her staff will take very good care of you.  No harm will come to you ... unless of course, I tell them to hurt you.  And, if you behave yourself, there will be no need for Me to do that.”

       With that, the Woman who had moved to stand to my left softly cleared Her throat and leaned over slightly so that i could see Her.  Even while focusing my attention on Her starched white lab coat and the name tag that identified Her as Dr. Ellen Moreaux, DVM — and fighting the reflex the make eye contact, which was considered polite in my previous existence but which i knew to be a punishable impertinence here — i could tell She was a beautiful Andrean Woman.  Over the next several days, my discrete observations through lowered eyes would confirm the initial impressions i gathered while strapped to Her exam table.  Like so many Andrean Womyn, She was tall, slender, stately, in excellent physical condition, and possessed of entrancing dark features.  She wore Her black hair long and curled; Her eyes were a piercing dark grey, Her facial features were strong and spoke of  extreme Andrean confidence, and Her complexion was dark and unmarred.  Her voice, when She spoke, was soft and calming, yet left no doubt who was in charge of the examination room nor of the males brought here.

       “I am told that my staff has nicknamed you ‘blueeyes.’  That’s a very pretty name, and you are a very pretty boy.”

       Not accustomed to such minimizing compliments, i blushed deeply and did not know how to respond, tongue-tied.  After a pregnant pause during which it became clear that a response was expected, Mistress poked a finger pointedly into my navel and prompted me:

       “What do you say, boy?”

       “Thank You, Ma’am,” i stammered out. “This boy hopes he reflects well on his gracious Mistress,” i added quickly, trying to make amends for my sluggishness.

       “I am sure that you will, boy,” Dr. Moreaux replied, smiling.  Dr. Moreaux then addressed my Mistress, beginning a conversation that — both literally and figuratively — took place above my level.  In a chilling way that surpassed everything i had endured (even the experience on the chattelry’s auction block), this drove home the point that i was now simply an object to be discussed, no longer a human to be consulted.

       “Do you want him to hear this?,” the Vet asked my Mistress.

       Without looking down at me, Mistress shook Her head slightly. “No, I would prefer that he didn’t.”

       Nodding as if to say “yes, it’s better that way,” Dr. Moreaux snapped Her fingers twice, the sounds splitting the antiseptic quiet of the room like a whip cracking in quick succession.  Then in a soft, assured voice that served as a sharp counterpoint to the severe authority of Her snapping fingers, She said:

       “toby, fetch the earphones.”  At that point it still sounded odd to me to hear the word “fetch.”  Within several days it would not ... for that is what males did in this society ... not “get”, or “bring”, or “collect”, or “deliver”, or “carry” ... but “fetch”.

       To my left, i felt rather than heard or saw a male slave — whose utter silence until that moment had rendered his presence unknown to me — rise from the floor at Dr. Moreaux’s feet and pad across the room.  With what must have been a practiced noiselessness, the unseen boy crossed the room, opened and closed a cabinet, and returned to stand directly behind my head.

       “Put them on his head snugly and set the mechanism to five,” Dr. Moreaux said, looking at neither the boy toby nor me, but casually rechecking something on my chart.  toby complied immediately, covering my ears with the large, tight-fitting head set.  As the auditory world around me became distant and muffled, the apprehension must have become visible in my eyes.  Mistress moved Her hand quickly from my lower abdomen, where She had been absentmindedly toying with my upper pubic hairs, to my chin, which She took firmly between Her thumb and forefinger.  Turning my head to the extent allowed by my restraints and simultaneously motioning to toby to remove the earphones, She leaned close to me and obliged me to look Her in the eye.  Calmly, yet forcefully, She said:

       “Relax, pet.  Everything will go much quicker and easier if you just relax,” Her voice soothing and reassuring.  “Remember what you are and whose you are,” this a bit more pointed.  “Dr. Moreaux and I need to discuss how I want you personalized.  And that is not a conversation that you need to be any part of ... or even listen to,” this said with every conviction of reasonableness, as though the concluding statement in a syllogism.   “Alright?” a question to which i knew there was only one correct answer.

       Easing my tense muscles and endeavoring to trust my Mistress, i nodded to the extent my head restraint would allow and answered meekly, “Yes, Mistress.”

       Mistress held my chin --- and my gaze --- for a moment longer, before releasing both with a slight reaffirming smile and motioning to toby to replace the headset over my ears.  As the earphones again muffled the outside the world, i could barely hear Mistress make apologies to Dr. Moreaux, who demurred that She knew that “puppies are puppies regardless of their age” and that no apologies were necessary.  With that, a loud but not unpleasant whirring began to come through the earphones, entirely blocking my ability to hear anything being said or done in the room around me.

       The examination that followed was intense and painstaking ... but neither painful nor altogether unpleasant.  Lacking any ability to hear what was transpiring around me and with only very limited ability to see, i relied mainly on touch to ascertain what was happening.  And both Mistress and Dr. Moreaux were extremely tactile; by the end of the lengthy inspection it felt like there was not a square inch of my body that had not been poked, kneaded, pinched, measured, pulled, patted, flicked, fingered, pushed, pulled, squeezed, jabbed, pricked, swabbed, nipped, and/or tweaked by One and/or Both.  It seemed as though the examination went on for well over an hour, but as i have said objective time loses meaning for males in this society ... for as long as they cared to inspect me, i was inspected.

       Of course, at the time i could only attempt to infer what was being said and decided.  my head and neck restraints made it difficult for me to keep their faces in view for the purpose of trying to read their lips; moreover, i was really beginning to internalize the rules of male conduct ... even while They were entirely preoccupied (with, say, scrutinizing my nipples) and i was unlikely to be caught violating the submissive decorum expected of males, i found it difficult to look at Their faces.  Although my body was physically strapped immobile to the table, i began to realize that the far more powerful bonds were being placed upon my mind, soul, and consciousness.

       While the examination was comprehensive, it did seem to have several focal points: principally my face, my torso, my genitalia, and my bottom.  From what i could make of it, the conversation about my face concerned hair length, something about my eyes, my nose, and my tongue ... which Dr. Moreaux made me keep extended for a lengthy period of time.  Similarly, from what i could piece together, there was great interest in my nipples (this did not surprise me, since they had been described on the auction block as “small and in need of attention,” which i assumed was a euphemism for the common practice of piercing), belly button (which i assumed would also likely be pierced), and torso hair (which was thick on my chest and very thick between my navel and genitals ... easily thick enough to allow Mistress to shave in a design should She choose to have me so decorated).

       The genital examination was, naturally, the most difficult portion for me.  Even after weeks in the chattelry, the lengthy public display prior to the auction, the profound experience on the block, and the short — but intense — time wearing Mistress’s collar, it was difficult for me to remain still while having my “private parts” examined ... although i knew and had accepted that they were no longer either “mine” or “private.”  i had to struggle constantly to control my primal protection instincts whenever either Mistress or Dr. Moreaux touched my penis or (especially) my scrotum.  The restraints kept me from embarrassing Mistress (and myself) too much, but nonetheless They had to stop the examination several times, making it clear to me without removing my earphones that i needed to cease tensing, bucking my hips, or trying to close my legs.  In hindsight i am aware that this interest in my genitalia was a very fortuitous sign — there is little interest in what hangs between the legs of boys who are not going to be used for “pleasure purposes” and even less in those who are slated to be de-balled.  But that is hindsight; at the time, the attention was sheer torture.

       As the examination drew toward its conclusion — toby apparently taking notes regarding what Mistress decided regarding the fate of my underarm hair, ear lobes, nipples, foreskin, and belly button — Dr. Moreaux and Mistress turned their attention to my buttocks and anus.  Mistress traced circles with Her fingers in several places on both of my butt cheeks, and Someone — Dr. Moreaux, i assumed — digitally examined the tightness of my sphincter muscles, even briefly inserting what i took to be probe deep into my anal cavity.

       This final indignity completed, both Dr. Moreaux and Mistress moved back to stand on either sides of my prostrate form, motioning to toby to remove the earphones from my head.  As the headset came off, Mistress lightly stroked my chin and told me what a good boy i had been ... so good that They would loosen my head and neck restraints to make me more comfortable while i waited.  Then, she kissed me lightly on the cheek while petting my tummy and strode out of the room with Dr. Moreaux, who carried my file and the notes She had been given by toby.

       As the two Ladies departed the room — leaving the door partly ajar, i noticed — toby unfastened my head strap and loosened the bonds that connected my collar to the examination table.  Instinctively and without thinking, i said:

       “Thank you, toby.”

       Hearing me speak, toby — a stocky boy in his mid 20s, with thick curly head hair but completely shaven below that, and naked save for a collar around his neck and thick leather straps around both wrists and ankles — shook his head and whispered in quick reply:

       “brother, we are not permitted to speak even to each other without permission ... and the use of names is strictly forbidden among males.  Please be careful or you will get us both into trouble.”

       With that, he scurried to clean up the examination room ... disposing of the rubber gloves that Dr. Moreaux had used, removing the speculum from the tray, and rearranging some papers left on the counter.  Watching him, my curiosity got the better of my good judgment and despite his earlier warning, i spoke again, as quietly as i could.

       “Please, brother, could you tell me what my Mistress decided?”

       Before he could reply — or reiterate his warning to be quiet — Ms. Adrianne re-entered the room.  Unlike Mistress — or Dr. Moreaux, or most Womyn in this country, who wore boots that announced both Their authority and physical presence — Ms. Adrianne wore soft soled shoes and She had caught us entirely unaware.

       toby dropped obediently to his knees as She entered and seemed to shrink in fear that we had been caught ... as, indeed we had.

       Letting Her gaze move slowly from me to the kneeling toby, Ms. Adrianne asked quietly:

       “I didn’t hear boys chattering in here, did I, toby?”

       i could hear toby swallow hard before answering meekly, “Yes, Ma’am, You did.  Please forgive us, Ma’am.”

       Clucking Her tongue in mock sympathy, Ms. Adrianne walked toward the kneeling (and visibly shaking) toby, taking his chin in Her hands as She stopped before him.  “I thought We had cured you of that nasty habit, boy.  But I see We still have some work to do.  I will see you at the front desk in five minutes; bring the medium flogger that I like and a punishment muzzle ... you will have another lesson in proper male behavior.”  With that, She snapped Her fingers twice and pointed toward the door, dismissing him to prepare for his discipline session.

       Approaching me, Ms. Adrianne initially said nothing, but began slowly to undo the stirrups and straps that had secured me during the examination.  After a long silence, She spoke:

       “I suspect that you are the real culprit here, blueeyes ... and that you have much to learn about the proper and improper uses of that mouth of yours.  Because of you, toby’s ass will be tender for a week and he won’t be able to use his mouth for anything for a few days.  Still, he needs to learn to behave even when others — like you — do not.  And you have many other things to worry about today, anyway.”

       Ms. Adrianne continued to undo the straps holding me to the table, not seeming to need or desire any response from me.  Since i had not been given permission to speak or asked a direct question, i knew that i was to consider myself muzzled and that i should keep silent.  After a few more moments, though, Ms. Adrianne picked up Her train of thought and continued:

       “Of course, I will probably mention my suspicions to your Mistress before She leaves, and She may well decide to take this up with you later.  A bit of time under Her tawse would be a memorable reminder of your place and the rules of proper male behavior.”

       By now, She had finished releasing all of the bonds and i was able to lie back completely unfettered on the table, which I did, attempting to remain as relaxed as possible.  After a few more moments, during which She winched all of the restraining belts back to their original positions, Ms. Adrianne spoke to me again.

       “Right now, your Mistress is deciding whether to have your alterations begun today or to schedule them for later.  The Clinic is quite busy and your Mistress is planning a business trip, so the scheduling is a bit complicated.  But We might have the pleasure of your company for a longer stay,” She said, smiling.  “I’ll go and check to see what’s being decide ... whether We need to prepare you for the operating room or for discharge.  While I’m gone, don’t you dare move that cute little butt of yours off the table, understand?”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i answered as She headed out the door.

       Lying there unrestrained, i felt no less constrained than i had when bound to the table by the leather straps.  As my submergence into utter submissiveness continued, it struck me again that Ms. Adrianne’s admonition not to move held me as tightly as had the physical bonds.  i even caught myself unconsciously moving my hand to scratch my hip; remembering Mistress’s observation that everything between my navel and my knees was Her playground and that i could touch myself there only with Her permission, i opted to endure the itch.

       After some little time, i heard the click of heeled boots coming down the hallway and realized that i could distinguish the gait as Mistress’s.  She entered the room and curtailed a conversation with Ms. Adrianne as they approached the examination table.  Running Her nails appreciatively over my torso from lower abdomen to throat, She smiled down at me and said:

       “As much as I would like to take you home with me right now and start really breaking you in, I’m going to have to leave you here at the clinic for a few days.  That will give Dr. Moreaux time to complete the alterations I have ordered and you plenty of time to recover.  I will pick you up when I get back to town at the end of the week.

       “They will take good care of you here, boy, and no harm will come to you, so long as you do what you are told when you are told to do it.  I want you to promise me, little one, that you’ll be good and won’t give Dr. Moreaux or any of the Ladies here any trouble.”

       A tad shaken by the decision to leave me at the clinic, i nevertheless responded obediently, “Yes Mistress, Your boy promises to be good.”

       “I know you will be,” Mistress said smiling down at me again.  “Especially since you can be sure that I will learn of any punishment you earn here and will double it when I get you home.  Understood, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress.”

       Mistress pecked me gently on the cheek in goodbye, and She and Ms. Adrianne shook  hands over my prostate form.  “Take good care of him, Adrianne.”  “You know that We will, Sis ... and will have him all ready for You to pick up when You return.  Have a safe trip.”

       And with that, Mistress left the room and left me alone with the Womyn who would oversee my “alterations.”  Without saying another word to me, Ms. Adrianne snapped Her fingers twice and pointed to a rolling gurnee situated at the far end of the room.  Without being told in words, i knew that i was to get down from the examination table and climb up on the gurnee, which i did quickly.

       “Good boy,” Ms. Adrianne said, smiling. 

       Then She busied Herself at one of the counters, turning back to me holding a large hyperdermic syringe in Her right hand.  Seeing my eyes widen, She reassured me that “It not nearly as bad as it looks, boy.  Just relax and soon you’ll be blissfully oblivious to all of this.”

       Trying to follow Her advice, i prepared my left arm for the bite of the needle.  To my surprise, however, instead of taking my arm, She roughly pulled a fold of skin up on my stomach and jabbed the needle in, as i stifled a yelp.  Of course, in hindsight, it made sense that Ms. Adrianne gave me the injection in this manner, since this is exactly how vets generally give shots to pets ... and this was another lesson in my indoctrination into the fact that that was exactly what i had become, a pet.

       Removing the needle, Ms. Adrianne massaged the site of the injection — again the mixture of cruelty and kindness that typifies Andrean treatment of males — and whispered to me, “Sleep tight, little one; when you awake you’ll truly be your Mistress’s boy.”  And that was all i heard before the drug kicked in and i slipped into unconsciousness.

       i have no idea how long i was unconscious, but the drug triggered a avalanche of vivid dreams ... in which i relived many of the events of the past year in phantasmagoric detail.  In the drug-induced dream scape, i was again with my platoon in the early days of the war ... our terrible defeats at the hands of the Andreans and their superior technology ... the first site of hover tanks, the lightening speed of Their aircraft, the power of Their photon-based explosives ... the chaotic horror of the retreat from Ballion ... the choking sense of the snare closing as we were ordered to hold the bridgehead above battalion headquarters ... the humiliation of capture as we were cut off and surrounded.  In the dream world, i was again in the POW camp, surprised again at the quality of our treatment, provisions, and medical care ... astounded that we saw none of the cruelty to men that we had been told to expect if captured by the enemy.  Again, i half-believed the rumors that the tide of the war had turned, that a negotiated settlement was possible, that we would soon be going home ... and again in dreamtime i cried at the successive news of the ceasefire, the surrender, and the “Liberation” under the terms of the Treaty of Talinoc.  In a blur of images that emerged and then washed over back into themselves, i watched myself listen to the camp Commander inform us that we were being transported to another “facility”; i saw the hover lorries onto which we were loaded and in which we were transported to the “facility”; i saw again the auditoriums and rooms where our re-education took place; i relived the experience of being told i was henceforth to consider myself an Andrean male, who would be “retained and retrained” for a productive role in society; i witnessed myself freshly washed, naked, and shivering in my first holding cage while i was examined first by the Doctor and then by the Sorter, who determined which auction queue i would be placed in; i heard myself say the words “Yes, Ma’am,” ... for the first time since childhood said as a matter of obligation rather than of courtesy.

       As the drug wore off, i gradually climbed back out of unconsciousness, slowly regaining a sense of who i was and making sense of where i was.  The sensations that grew as i awakened were of constriction, soreness, hardness, metallic taste, and white light.  Groggily at first and then with greater clarity, i realized that i was lying on my side, with my arms bound behind me at the wrists ... but that i was otherwise unrestrained.  i was lying on a thin mat that was on the floor along one wall of a small rectangular room, really a cell, i suppose.  The room was well lit and antiseptically clean.  Other than a door in one of the shorter walls and a bowl of water tucked into one of the corners opposite the door, it was utterly devoid of any other features.  The door was notable in that it had no handle on the inside, just two horizontal slits ... a small, short one at eye level and a larger, longer one about an inch from the floor.

       After taking a measure of the room and satisfying myself that i was as alone as i appeared to be, i cautiously pulled myself up into a sitting position on the floor mat.  Squeezing my eyes and shaking my head to counteract the lingering effects of the drug, i shuddered in apprehension when i remembered  that i was at the veterinary clinic and that i had been kept here for “alterations.”  With some trepidation — and as best i could without the benefit of a mirror, or even of my hands — i began to examine myself to see what modifications Mistress had ordered in my physical appearance.  Several things were immediately obvious.  First, i noticed that i was still “intact,” to use the Andrean term, possessing both of my testicles.  Although there would be many times in the years to come (as i learned more about the rigors of orgasm control and how vulnerable testicles were to all sorts of punishments) that i would question whether i would have preferred to be have been gelded, at the time i was relieved beyond measure.  Second, i found that the metallic taste in my mouth was caused by two studs piercing my tongue, a larger one behind and a smaller one toward the tip.  From numerous references at the chattelry, i knew that such piercings were designed to heighten Female pleasure during oral sex and surmised that this would be a major task of mine at Mistress’s house.  Third, i felt — and could just barely see — another facial piercing, a hoop in the cartilage between my nostrils.

       Fourth, looking down my body, i saw that both of my nipples had also been pierced, but with more complicated contraptions designed, it seemed, to stretch and enlargen them.  (Mistress confirmed this suspicion after She collected me from the vet.  Several weeks later, commenting that my newly protruding nipples made me look “much sluttier”, She had the “trainers” replaced with small gold hoops at a local “boy boutique”.) Fifth, as i had suspected, my belly button was also pierced.  The hoop through my navel was of a wider gauge wire than the nipple rings; from it hung a small bell that tinkled softly whenever i moved.  In the coming weeks, i would learn that such “slave bells” --- often, as was mine, engraved with the Mistress’s initials and the date of the slave’s purchase, usually referred to as his “birthday” --- were popular among Ladies who bought Zutatian males.                        

       Sixth, i noticed that virtually all of the hair on my body below my head had been removed, by dipilation, i assumed.  As best i could tell, my chest, leg, and underarm hair had all be removed, and my body made much smoother.  The only hair i could see remaining below my chin was a patch on my lower abdomen, between my navel and penis.  With some effort and repositioning, i could determine that here Mistress had indeed instructed that a heart design be shaved using my formerly thick pubic hair.

       Last, but certainly not least (in fact, it was the very first thing i noticed), my penis had been encased in a chastity device that consisted of a narrow metal tube ... in gold, i noticed, to match my piercings ... and bent slightly in the middle, ensuring that it pointed downward.  The tube was secured in place with a small magnetic lock that fit through two small holes on the underside of the tube and that pierced the skin on the underside of my organ.   The device was discrete and ingenious; it did not interfere at all with normal urinary functions (especially since Andrean males were not permitted to stand while urinating), but unless Mistress removed it even the most casual erection was impossible.  And i knew from my experience with Andrean technology and their breakthroughs in metallurgy that removing the tube without the key was essentially impossible. Although i would have to wait until later to confirm this, the fact that the purple head of my penis stuck out so uninhibitedly from the chastity tube led me to believe that i had also been circumcised.  Andrean Womyn, depending on Their political and social views, considered the male foreskin to be somewhere on a scale running from entirely unnecessary to an abomination unto the Goddess.  At very least, it was thought to be a disposable flap of skin ... and one that covered something that for reasons of both access and aesthetics should be kept entirely exposed to Womyn.  At worst, it was seen as a loathsome sacrilege, since its presence heightened male sexual pleasure while providing no benefit for the Female.  It was a virtually universal practice in Andrean society to circumcise males as they reached puberty (a common time for “vending”), an age at which they could understand both the role of the foreskin and appreciate the pain of the procedure.  i also had learned that Andrean bio-geneticists had developed a strain of males that lacked foreskins altogether, for which they were highly prized.

       In addition to these things, i noticed several other bodily aches and pains that might have indicated other “modifications”, but these were all i could see at the moment ... and, although none of them was entirely unexpected, they were certainly more than enough for me to come to grips with there in my cell. 

       Having finished my survey of my new bodily decorations, i decided to explore my cell more thoroughly, a task that was hampered somewhat by my bound hands.  In hindsight, though, i recognized that this was simply another aspect of my training; Mistress often required me to serve Her without the use of my hands and experiences like this were designed to teach me to move — and to move gracefully — without the aid of my hands and arms.  There was not really much to examine in the room.  The bowl on the floor was of stainless steel and was filled with cold water, which was a welcome relief to my throat, made dry and parched from the surgery.  As i knelt to drink from the bowl, mimicking the motions of a dog lapping from its feeding dish, it occurred to me that this would be how i would eat and drink for the remainder of my life.  The door, like the walls of the room, was padded for what i assumed were acoustical reasons.  i surmised (correctly as it turned out) that the lower door slit was for feeding purposes and that the upper slit allowed the Female Staff to observe me.  Hearing no noise from the other side of the door, i cautiously rose and looked out of the upper slit.  The view, though circumscribed by the small size of the hole, showed a bare, well lit hallway, onto which opened several doors like the one i was peering through.  Most of them were closed, but the one directly across from me was open and revealed a darkened cell identical to mine.  As i was straining my eyes to the right to see what more i could see at the far end of the hallway, i heard somewhere behind me the soft clearing of a throat, unmistakably that of Dr. Moreaux..

       Startled and entirely unsure how Dr. Moreaux had entered the closed cell, i froze in place.  She spoke in Her slow, soft voice.  “I understand that Zutatians have a saying — ‘curiosity killed the cat’, or something like that.  Here We have a somewhat different expression: ‘curiosity earned him a whipping.’” She paused and let me ponder this momentarily before continuing.

       “you know — or very well should know — that that slot is for the Staff to use looking in at you, not for you to use at any time, for any purpose.  Now, kindly step back from the door and turn around.”

       Unfreezing myself, i complied with haste, bowing my head and lowering my eyes to the floor as i turned.  Even through down-turned eyes, however, i could see the extraordinary thing that had happened.  Somehow and in an absolutely silent fashion that i attributed to superior Andrean technology, the ceiling of my cell had been retracted, revealing Dr. Moreaux standing on a grate overlooking me.  In the fleeting moment i had to take all of this in before She spoke again, i noticed that She was dressed as before in a dazzlingly white lab coat and that She was as beautiful as i had noticed while lying on Her examination table.  But i did not have long to ponder either the technological marvels of the cell or Her stunning presence.

       “Is that anything like the position a boy should be in while in the presence of a Superior?” She asked, bitingly, tapping Her booted foot on the grate above me.

       Only now realizing that i was standing, i dropped immediately to my knees and mumbled a soft, “No, Ma’am.” Speaking for the first time since i regained consciousness, my mouth seemed stiff and my words garbled.  i wondered if this was an effect of the drugs, but Dr. Moreaux did not seem to notice, or at least said nothing.

       “Much better,” She said, pleased.  “Now, lower your forehead to the floor, greet Me properly, and beg my forgiveness for your impertinent behavior.”

       Struggling to keep my balance while complying quickly to Her command, i leaned over, placing my forehead on the padded floor.  “This boy greets You, Dr. Moreaux, Ma’am, and humbly begs Your forgiveness for his earlier impertinent behavior.”

       Above me, i sensed that Dr. Moreaux smiled as She replied, “That will do ... for the time being.  We will teach you some more abject ways in which to plead for forgiveness, but that will come.  In the meantime, you are to greet me in this fashion every time W/we meet ... always kowtowing with your forehead on the floor, always begging forgiveness.  If you do so to My satisfaction, I just might forget to mention your entirely unbecoming curiosity to your Mistress when She calls to check up on you.  Do you understand, blue eyes?”

       “Yes, Ma’am, this boy understands,” said with my forehead still held stiffly on the floor.

       “Excellent; you may kneel up, but keep your head bowed and spread your knees a bit.”

       After i had done as She had commanded (having long since learned that when an Andrean Female addressed a male, “may” almost always meant “shall”), Dr. Moreaux continued, sitting on a padded bench, crossing Her long legs, and leaning over the grating to examine me more closely.

       “I wanted to talk with you about your situation, both regarding your stay here at the clinic and more generally your transition to becoming an Andrean male.  There are some things you will need to know to make your stay with us as easy as possible; and I have found that dealing with Zutatian males requires somewhat different approaches than We use with our indigenous males, who after all have the advantage of having been reared as submissives since birth.  I want you to understand that I am speaking to you now not just as a Superior, but also as Someone who is truly interested in your successful transition to your new life.  Alright?”

       “Yes, Ma’am.  Thank You, Ma’am.”

       Above me, Dr. Moreaux leaned back, repositioning Herself on the bench.  “Have you had a chance to examine yourself and the modifications that your Mistress has had made to your body?”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i responded.

       “Good.  It is imperative that you understand that your Mistress has every right to modify you in any way She sees fit, since you are Her property to be used or disposed of as She desires.  The changes She has made in your appearance are designed to make you more appealing and more useful to Her.

       “you have probably noticed that She has had you pierced in a number of places,” She continued.  “Some of these --- like your ear posts and belly ring --- are for purely aesthetic purposes.  Others, like those in your nose and nipples, have more practical purposes ... as you will learn when you are led by either.  And the studs placed on your tongue have principally a sexual design.”

       Dr. Moreaux paused for a moment to take a drink from a glass She held in Her hand, then continued.  “you will also have noticed that all --- or almost all --- of your body hair below your neck has been removed.  It will take periodic treatments to keep you shorn like this, but sleek male bodies are much prized here, because they are more aesthetically attractive to Us and more pleasing to touch ... and because many Andreans feel that males should be sheared of anything that covers or obscures their bodies.  The one exception, you have also probably noticed, is that your Mistress left you a small tuft of pubic hair shaved into the shape of a heart directly above your cock.  This is Her little joke, at your expense, I’m afraid.  This is a common practice with adolescent males, to announce their virginity — anal virginity, that is.  Such a symbol advertises that they have not yet been taken by a Woman, but that they are available for such use.  In your case, your Mistress intends it both literally and figuratively ... that is that despite your biological age, you are still a puppy in terms of Andrean male experience.  I suspect that She will have this shaved off soon after She gets you home.”

       Again, Dr. Moreaux paused to sip Her drink before continuing.  “I suppose that you are also concerned about the device around your cock.  It is a rather typical Andrean chastity tube, which you will probably find disconcerting at first, but hopefully not too uncomfortable.  you can expect your Mistress to lock you in this device whenever She leaves you alone for lengthy periods of time, to keep you from pleasuring yourself in Her absence ... and to remind you that your cock is really Her cock and is to be used exclusively for Her amusement.”  Again a pause to allow this to sink in.

       “It might interest you to know that you are an extremely fortunate boy.  I have known your Mistress for some time.  She was one of my first clients when i joined this practice, bringing me the first boy She had purchased with Her own money, while She was still a teenager ... and I have cared for all of Her pets since.  I’d say that roughly two-thirds of those She gelded immediately.  blue eyes, you are one of the few She has kept entirely ‘intact.’  Of course, She may change Her mind after She has seen you perform and bring you back for a date with my scrotal knife.  But I doubt it; She seems genuinely interested in breeding you.  That usually means that you will be generally better treated and kept longer.  In this regard, it is interesting that She has chosen to fit you with a chastity tube rather than the more common method of piercing the cock’s frenum and locking that into another hoop piercing the scrotum.  Many Womyn prefer this method since it is simpler and leaves the male meat more exposed, but — since, to be effective, the hoops are closed, — it makes the cock rather useless for sexual purposes.  There are no guarantees, of course, but it certainly looks as though your Mistress plans to make use of Her new cock ... and many, many boys are not so lucky.”

       Again a lengthy pause while Dr. Moreaux sipped Her drink and re-arranged Herself on the bench, watching me i am sure the entire time.

       “There is another sense in which you are a fortunate boy, blue eyes ... and that is to have been purchased by such a fine Woman as your Mistress.  As I said, I have known Her for some time and also know Her Mother and Sisters quite well ... as you soon will, too, I feel certain.  I  have had plenty of opportunities to observe the care that She takes with Her pets.  Just in case you haven’t figured this out on your own, I should tell you that your Mistress is well-educated, sophisticated, and cultured.  She is also a highly successful businessWoman, with one of the most successful high-technology firms in this part of the country.  She travels widely, both here and abroad, comes from one of the most respected families in the city, and circulates at the upper reaches of society.  As Her pet, you will live a privileged, even pampered, existence, so long as your demeanor, behavior, and appearance reflect well on Her.

       “I am telling you all of this so that you will know that your Mistress could afford to have a small  stable of boys.  But She doesn’t.  She prefers to dote Her attention on just one.  Oh, I’m sure that there are time when She will lease slaves for one purpose or another, but — unlike many of Her Sisters — She is principally committed to owning just one at a time ... since She thinks that is all She has time to care for properly.  It should go without saying that you will benefit tremendously from this.  She looks upon Zutanian males like yourself as a real challenge, and will take the time to train you extensively and well.  She will break you of your bad habits, drill you in all of the intricacies of proper male behavior, and make certain that you are expert in all of the forms of service that Andrean Females expect.  Even if She decides not to keep you for long — and She can bore of males easily — She will go to extraordinary lengths to find you a good home.  In fact, I have known Her to vend boys She has tired of to Her close friends or give them as gifts to valued business clients.”

       Another lengthy pause, while Dr. Moreaux first swirled Her drink, clinking the ice cubes, then took another sip from it.

       “Finally, boy, you should consider yourself lucky to have been chosen as a personal slave at all.  As you may know, most of your compatriots — both those who were prisoners of war and those We harvested from your former country — will be used as drones, not as personal servants.  They will be gelded and some even lobotomized in order to make them more docile and compliant for the dull, repetitive, or dangerous jobs they will given.  Undoubtedly, you will see many of these poor creatures daily — working on road and sanitation crews, pulling carriages in the parks, staffing toll booths, being used as beasts of burden to load and unload trucks — and there are many more you won’t see working on the nation’s farms and in factories and mines.  If I were you, I would give thanks daily that I was not in their collars.  And let Me stress that you well might have been.  If I am any judge of male flesh — and I assure you that I am — I would say that you were on the cusp in the sorting process.  Generally males of your size and age are not chosen for personal service.  But there is a fashion trend toward smaller genital packages, and your blonde hair and blue eyes are considered highly desirable in a pleasure slave.  And that tongue of yours is also longer than usual ... another excellent feature in a personal slave.”  Another pause.  “I also suspect that your education and military rank helped, since there is an assumption that you are intelligent enough to be trained for and entrusted with important chores.

       “Does all of this make sense to you, boy?”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i replied, noticing that my diction still seemed difficult and distorted.

       “Good.  Now I have probably spent far too long on these matters, but I think they are important and these are things that I can say to you better than your Mistress can.”

       Another pause for Dr. Moreaux to sip from Her drink before continuing.

       “Where were W/we?  Talking about the modifications that your Mistress ordered, I believe....  When you see yourself in a mirror, you will notice that your Mistress has altered your hair style.  She wants it shorter in front and will groom it longer in back, to show off your pretty blonde locks.  Also, you will learn that longer hair in back has a very practical use that I feel certain your Owner will make use of.  When you look in a mirror, you will also notice that your Mistress has had your eyeslids  permanently lined to highlight your lovely blue eyes, your lips injected with collagen to make them somewhat fuller, and both your lips and your nipples permanently dyed a richer shade of red.  She may still want you rouged up a bit more for big nights on the town, but these permanent changes will make you more low-maintenance on a day-to-day basis.  If you will look down at your genitals, you will notice that your ball sac hangs lower now.  Despite what I said earlier about smaller genitals being fashionable, that applies really only to cocks.  Low slung balls are still considered extremely attractive, and your Mistress had your scrotum permanently stretched so that yours will hang lower and swing more ... and make a better target for the crop should you deserve disciplining,” She said, i feel certain smiling at the addendum.

       “There have also been some changes made that are not readily apparent.  For instance, the structure of your mouth has been changed slightly ... to make you better suited for your new life.  The muscles controlling your jaw have been tightened, while those controlling your tongue have been loosened and lengthened.  This is designed to make talking somewhat more difficult for you, but cunnilingus somewhat easier — and, more importantly, more rewarding for your Mistress.  This is a common alteration made in personal slaves, whose mouths serve more of a sexual than a communicative purpose.  Another routine alteration is that a small valve has been inserted in your urethra that will allow your Mistress to control your fluid flow.  The main purpose of this is to stop unsightly pre-cum from constantly oozing from your male slit.  Many Womyn (and I am One of Them) also use this valve to control urine flow.  Believe Me, it is a great punishment device ... and I often make my boys beg not just for permission to pee, but also for the ability to do so.  I don’t know exactly how your Mistress will use the valve, but you will soon find out.

       “Finally, if your abdomen is a tad sore, there is a good reason.  Although She is still quite uncertain whether or not She will use you in this way, your Mistress has begun the process of having you fitted with an artificial womb.  As you might be aware, since the development of the artificial womb a generation ago, virtually all male fetuses are now brought to term by male ‘carriers’ ... usually the biological father, but sometimes not.  If She decides to go through with this, it probably won’t be for a couple of years, and She will probably have you carry multiple fetuses — a litter, We call it.  Then She would have to decide whether She would raise and train the pups, or send them to a kennel for that purpose — as many Womyn in mid-career do.  But that is well in the future; all you need to know right now is that She is considering this and that if She goes ahead We will see you here again for several subsequent operations.”

       Above me, i heard the sound of Dr. Moreaux refilling Her drink from a pitcher before She continued.

       “I have described for you most of the alterations that your Mistress has had done to you, now let me see how observant you are.  Can you think, blue eyes, of anything your Mistress has not done to you?”

       With my head swimming with all that She had told me, i was unable to think clearly.  After a moment, i shook my head slightly and responded meekly, “No, Ma’am, this boy cannot.”

       “Well, then, I am disappointed in you, boy.  Perhaps you are not as smart and clever as your Mistress believes.”

       Dr. Moreaux paused at this, probably to watch me blush deeply at the criticism.

       “I know that your hands are bound, but as best you can, rub them around your ass cheeks.  What do you feel?”

       Struggling to do as commanded, while keeping my balance and my head bowed, i managed to move my fingers so that i could feel the smooth skin of my bottom and it immediately occurred to me what was missing.  A look of realization must have come over my face, for Dr. Moreaux asked: “Now do you see what hasn’t been done?”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i replied.  Remembering the deep marks branded into the butt cheeks of the boys i had seen in the market, i did not know whether to be relieved or fearful.  “This boy’s bottom has not been branded.”

       “Very good,” She said, with a mock congratulatory tone.  “Although, as a general rule, it is considered polite to make your Mistress the subject of sentences whenever possible.  So, you should have said, ‘Mistress has not branded this boy’s bottom.’  See?”

       “Yes, Ma’am.”

       “Say it correctly, boy.”

       “Yes, Ma’am.  Mistress has not branded this boy’s bottom.”

       “Much better.  Although to be precise, you would need to add a ‘yet’ at the end of that sentence.  As it turns out, your Mistress — and Her entire family, for that matter — is a bit old fashioned and believes that slaves should be conscious when they are branded.  In your Mistress’s family, this is accomplished with a bit of ceremony and festivity; there is a party, friends and relatives are invited, and the slave is made to publicly bear the pain of the branding irons as an outward sign of his submission and obedience.  These things are a bit barbaric in my opinion, but they can also be loads of fun ... although you probably won’t enjoy it in the least.  In your case, the ceremony will be postponed a bit because of your Mistress’s trip out of town, but you can expect to be properly marked within a week or two.  And, your Mistress has invited me to attend, so I’ll have the pleasure of seeing your cute little ass labeled as your Mistress’s property.”

       Dr. Moreaux paused again to sip from Her drink, but i could feel Her gaze still locked on me as She judged my reaction.  In a moment, She continued.

       “That’s all you need to know about your bodily modifications; your Mistress may choose tell you more later, but you should let Her bring the subject up ... you should never be so brazen as to ask, which would be seen as highly disrespectful. 

       “Now, let me tell you a bit about how We operate around here and what your stay with Us will be like.  Generally speaking, you will behave here as you will behave elsewhere.  We expect absolute, unquestioning, and immediate obedience.  If you are told to do something, you will do it ... period, full stop.  Any hesitation or questioning on your part will be quickly and severely punished.  We will also closely monitor your demeanor, which should demonstrate absolute deference to all of the Womyn here and contain not even a hint of pride.  If We sense any lack of respect in your carriage, your tone, your bearing, or your disposition, you will regret it.  Understood, boy?”

       “Yes, Ma’am,” i answered quickly.

       “Good.  There are also some more specific things you need to know.  First, this is your cage; you will sleep here, be fed here, and stay here when you are not being exercised.  When in your cage, you will observe absolute silence ... no talking, no attempts to communicate with other boys in the kennel, no unnecessary noise of any kind.  As I indicated earlier, you are to stay away from the observation hole in the door, and in general refrain from standing.  As a general rule, it is also a good practice for you to assume your current position — kneeling, knees spread, head bowed — whenever you hear a Woman in the hall; it will impress your Trainer immensely if you greet Her in this manner every time without having to be reminded.  Second, you will be fed twice a day — morning and evening — through the lower slit on the door.  Even when your wrists are unbound, you are to eat your meals on the floor without the aid of your hands.  you will eat quickly and lick your platter completely clean, as evidence of your gratitude for being fed.  Meals will consist of slave chow (which you had better get used to eating) and any treats that your Trainer may add for good behavior.

       “Third, although I don’t know who has been assigned as your Trainer, I will tell you that all of the Womyn We employ in this capacity are young, some still in Their teens.  I suspect that you will find this rather discomforting at first, but it will be excellent training for you.  In Andrean society, a male’s age is irrelevant ... a fact that you had better get used to.  A male is a ‘boy’ regardless of his age, and a Female is a Womyn regardless of Her’s.  As a boy, you owe obedience and submission to every Woman, whatever Her age.  I have no doubt that at first you will find it extraordinarily humiliating to submit to ‘girls’.... And, by the way, if you desire a ferocious beating, just let yourself be heard uttering that term; you will always refer to all Females as ‘Womyn.’  In the course of your new life here, there will be innumerable times when you will serve Womyn much younger than yourself.  It is in your best interests to learn to ignore Their age and become accustomed to kissing Their feet, wearing Their collars, and bearing the sting of Their whips.  In that regard, I should warn you that the Clinic’s Trainers are experienced in dealing with slaves like yourself and accomplished in making them behave.  Whoever your Trainer is, She will know your history, will be eager to establish Her control of you (especially given the age matter), and won’t be inclined to tolerate any bad behavior on your part.  Take my advice and don’t give your Trainer any reason to demonstrate how adept She is with Her crop ... believe it or not, I really don’t want to see that cute butt of yours looking like hamburger the next time I see you, blue eyes.

       Dr. Moreaux uncrossed Her long legs and shifted to a more comfortable position above me before continuing.

       “Fourth, your Trainer will be responsible for you while you are here in the Clinic’s kennel.  She will exercise you several times a day, groom you, and see that you have opportunities to relieve yourself.     Let me stress that all of these things are privileges, not rights, and that they are controlled by your Trainer.  She will use them to punish and reward you, depending on your behavior.  Sometimes the exercise will be casual and unstructured; your Trainer may take you on a walk through the neighborhood or let you play in Our exercise yard.  Other times, the  sessions will be more strenuous, especially since your Mistress wants you toned up a bit when She collects you.  Some of these may involve workouts with other slaves, which will give you some training in interacting with other boys.  For puppies like yourself, We also have the Trainers run some educational sessions, during which you will be drilled in basic slave etiquette and some rudimentary serving techniques.  For instance, many Womyn prefer to give commands using hand signals, and We  will instruct you in some of the primary ones you will be expected to know.”

       “Fifth, as you know, you will address most Women at the Clinic by the honorific ‘Ma’am,’ but with....” A soft ringing interrupted Dr. Moreaux and, without saying a word to me, She rose from Her bench and turned to move toward a far corner of the grate.  Above me, i could hear Her speaking in a low voice, but could not make out any of the words.  After a very brief conversation, She walked back toward the center of the grating, the shadow that fell over me indicating that She was almost directly over me.

       “I must run attend to other matters, blue eyes, and will let your Trainer tell you the remainder of what you need to know.  As I leave, I am going to dim the lights in your cage and I want you to rest ... you need to recover from the operation and to build up your strength for what is to come.  But first, I want you to say goodbye properly ... let me see that you have learned something today.”

       Very much seeking the approval of this Woman who held such power of me while i remained in Her Clinic, i recalled how She had instructed me to greet Her and immediately lowered my forehead to the padded floor.  Kowtowing thus, i said softly but quite audibly, “Farewell, Ma’am.  This boy appreciates Your kindness to him and humbly begs forgiveness for his bad behavior.”

       Above me, Dr. Moreaux’s tone indicated that She was indeed pleased.  “Very nicely done, blue eyes; you are learning nicely.  Now rest and wait for your Trainer to come for you.”

       With that, Dr. Moreaux’s shadow receded and, after a brief moment, the lights in the cell dropped to almost complete darkness.  Daring to look up, i saw not only that She had departed, but that the ceiling of the cell was again solid.  Without rising, i moved toward the mat on the floor and surrendered to my fatigue — despite my apprehensions, dropping into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately.

       i have no idea how long i slept, but when i awoke i felt greatly refreshed.  As i strove to stretch,  i noticed that the lights had been raised again in the cage and --- much more surprisingly --- that my wrists had been unfastened from behind my back.  Examining them, i saw that both of my wrists had been encircled by black leather cuffs about an inch thick.  The cuffs were padded, appeared seamless, and were undoubtedly custom-fitted.  There were no apparent snaps, hooks, or bolts on the cuffs, so i assumed (correctly as i was to find out) that the were electro-magnetic in design, able to bind my wrists together tightly when powerful magnets embedded beneath the leather were activated by remote control.  While examining the wrist cuffs, i also noticed that similar cuffs adorned my ankles ... i had not noticed them before, but could not be sure whether they were newly added or whether i been so flustered by Dr. Moreaux that i simply had failed to see them earlier.

       Taking advantage of the new mobility of my hands, i began to explore the modifications that Dr. Moreaux had described to me.  Running my hands over my head, i found that the hair in front, on top, and on the sides of my head had indeed been cut very short ... buzzed we would have said at home ... while that in back had been left to grow longer.  Both of my earlobes had been pierced three times.  The hoop piercing my nose was of a thick gauge, and the “trainers” on my nipples were very sensitive to the touch.  Remembering the admonition about the stretch of flesh between my navel and my knees, i prevailed in a struggle with my curiosity and refrained from touching either the belly piercing, bell, or chastity device ... although i did run my hand quickly over the stiff, cropped pubic hairs that formed my “virginity heart.” 

       It was as i was doing this that i noticed a small piece of stationery taped to the door.  It was posted between the upper and lower slots, roughly at eye level for someone — as i was —  on his knees.  The small rectangular card was of heavy stock paper, embossed across the upper right with block letters that read “Erin Klima.”  Below that, in a firm, assured hand was written the following note:  “I came by, found you still slumbering, and decided to let you rest.  Sleep well, and I shall be back shortly.”  The note was signed “Mistress Erin.”

       Reading the brief note over several times, i was struck again by the radical disjuncture between the kindness and the cruelty that Andrean Womyn demonstrated toward males.  But the internal logic of Their worldview was beginning to make some sense to me.  Given the place assigned to males in Andrean society, they deserved — and received — kind treatment whenever they were vulnerable, docile, and completely submissive.  But any display of pride, willfulness, disrespect, or poor training brought a harsh response, as severe as it was certain.  As i pondered the implications of this, i heard movement in the hallway and, heeding the advice of Dr. Moreaux, assumed a kneeling position facing the door.

       It took some time for the noise in the hall to work its way down to where my cage was located.  When it did, a round platter — perhaps a foot in diameter — was slid through the lower slot in the door.  The platter contained a sort of hash, piled over a mound of rice.  Sitting atop the dish were two small cookies, cut in star shapes and sprinkled with sugar.  As Dr. Moreaux had ordered — and because i was desperately hungry, a fact i didn’t realize until i began eating — i devoured the meal quickly ... kneeling and without using my hands at all.  The hash had a faint fishy taste, but tasted rather good; in my famished state, i gulped it down, licked the plate clean, and then — as best i could — cleaned the food scraps away from my mouth with water from my bowl.  Just as i finished doing so, i heard the click of Female heels coming down the hallway from my right.  i moved back quickly to the center of the cage and turned on my knees to face the door ... hands clasped in the small of my back, legs widely spread, head deeply bowed, and eyes fixed on the floor in front of the door ... and held my breath.  When the footsteps passed my door and continued down the hallway to the left, i relaxed and knelt back on my heels.  As it turned out, i did not have long to wait.  Within a matter of minutes, i again heard the sharp click of booted heels coming down the hallway.  Kneeling back up in what i hoped my Trainer would agree was a position of abject submission, i felt my heart miss a beat as the steps stopped directly outside my door.  A subtle change in the light of the room indicated that the Woman in the hallway was examining me through the observation slit in the door.  Then, following the subdued clicking of a lock and with a slight hissing sound, the door slid open and a Womyn entered the room.  With equal parts authority and grace, the Womyn skillfully slid my empty feeding tray toward the side wall of the cage and moved to stand directly over me.  With my head bowed and eyes lowered, i could see only Her feet (which were encased in formal riding boots of shiny black leather) and Her legs (on which She wore tight-fitting jodhpurs of pale gray).

       From above me, She spoke, Her voice soft and deep ... yet, as Dr. Moreaux had warned, obviously young.  “Hello, blue eyes.”

       “Hello, Ma’am,” i replied.

       The Woman’s left hand appeared before my face and with Her index finger, She gently lifted my chin, so that i was looking — more or less — at Her torso.  In the fraction of a second i had to consider such things, i noticed that Her nails were long, carefully manicured, and painted a dark claret; that Her skin was very pale for an Andrean and smelled richly of a flowery perfume; that She was wearing a sleeveless cropped, black silk blouse that hung just over the top of Her jodhpurs and that highlighted a well-developed, late adolescent figure; and that from the wrist of Her left arm hung a nasty looking riding crop of braided black leather ... all in all, it was a look that was designed to — and succeed in — expressing maturity, poise, and authority.  While i was focusing on the crop hanging from Her left hand, Her right hand delivered a stinging slap to my cheek, as sharp as it was unexpected.  Caught completely off-guard, i struggled to maintain my balance and to keep my chin steadily balanced on the tip of Her left index finger.  After a moment, She removed Her finger from under my chin, which i took to be a sign to re-bow my head, which was reeling and stinging from the slap.

       “I see that I really have my work cut out for me here,” She sighed.  “First, boy, you will never, ever address your Trainer simply as ‘Ma’am.’  Since My position over you is analogous to that of your Owner, you will address me as ‘Mistress Erin.’  Second, whenever you find yourself in My presence, you are to kowtow in greeting, as Dr. Moreaux taught you this morning.  Do you think you can handle that?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i replied.

       “Good.  Then let U/us try it again....  Hello, blue eyes.”

       Lowering my forehead to the ground immediately before Her smartly booted feet, i answered as meekly as i could.  “Greetings, Mistress Erin. This boy humbly begs Your forgiveness for his impertinent behavior.”

       “Very good, boy.  Kneel up now and do it again.”

       Obeying Her command, i bobbed up only to relower my forehead to the floor by Her feet and repeat the abject lines. “Greetings, Mistress Erin.  This boy humbly begs Your forgiveness for his impertinent behavior.”

       “Good.  Again.”

       Again, i bobbed up and kowtowed back down, echoing the humble greeting and request for mercy.  Mistress Erin had me repeat the proper greeting almost a dozen times until i became quite red in the face.  Finally, She allowed me to stop.

       “When you displease Me, I will drill you in proper manners until I am satisfied that you have learned your lesson.  Will you remember the proper way to greet and address your Trainer from now on?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin.”

       “I hope so, boy, for your sake.  If you displease me with this again, I will make your balls pay the price.  Understood?

       “Yes, Mistress Erin.”

       “Alright,” She said.  “Rise to your feet.  I want to get a good look at you and see what modifications your Mistress has had done to you.”

       With all the agility i could muster, i rose to stand in front of my Trainer, being sure to keep my legs apart, my hands crossed in the small of my back, and my head bowed.  Even through downturned eyes, i could get some better view of this commanding young Woman.  She was rather short by Andrean standards, but neither this nor Her age — which i judged to be about 17, literally young enough to be my daughter — diminished Her authority in the least.  From what i could tell, She had fine Andrean facial features, full lips, dark eyes, and wore Her dark hair in a very stylish cut, curled in toward Her face and with one side noticeably longer than the other.  In my previous life, i would have mentally undressed Her with my eyes and speculated (silently, or aloud to colleagues) about how those lips would feel on my cock.  Now, however, i was the naked one, my eyes were lowered in respect, my penis was encased beyond my control, my lips were silent except when given permission to speak, and my thoughts focused on this Woman’s authority rather than Her appearance.

       When i had risen before Her, She shook Her head with displeasure and sighed, “boy, that simply won’t do at all.”  Tapping the inside of my right knee with Her crop, She said sternly, “First, you are to keep those legs much more widely spread, to stress both your vulnerability and accessibility.  Second, hold your shoulders back and push your chest forward.  Third, remember, you are your Owner’s prize possession ... all of your movements should be more sensuous, more fluid, and more graceful.  Drop to your knees and show Me that you can do better.”

       Thankful, at least, that these shortcomings had not resulted in another slap (or worse), i quickly dropped to my knees and tried again.  Rising a second time, i was much more aware of the flow of my body, and tried to move with greater fluidity and hold myself with more poise.

       Mistress Erin seemed pleased.  “Considerably better, boy.  But I still want those legs spread wider.”  Running Her crop lightly along the inside of my upper right thigh, She said, “When you are properly exposed, you should feel a burning in these muscles here.  Drop and try again.”

       For the next several minutes, Mistress Erin made me repeat this “presentation stance,” each time pointing out slight improvements She wanted made ... knees slightly bent, toes straight, chin lower, stomach tighter, and the like.  Sometime after the sixth effort (i quit counting at six, figuring that since i had little choice but to continue until She was satisfied keeping track was futile), She took mercy on me and allowed me to remain standing.  Breathing hard from the exercise and i am certain a bit red in the face, i listened to Her say:

       “That is good enough for now.  I’m sure that you are still a bit sore from the surgery.  W/we will work on this again after you have had a chance to recover a bit more.  But remember, all of your movements should reflect favorably on your Owner.  As Her personal pleasure slave, your movements should be as graceful as your demeanor is submissive.  Every movement should be supple and sensuous, reflecting the fact that you know that your value resides in how attractive and desirable you are to Womyn.  Do you understand?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i responded, trying to internalize what She was telling me.

       “Good.  Now, let me get a proper look at you.”  With the tip of Her crop, She raised my chin. “Hold your head up, so that I may see your face, boy ... but keep those eyes lowered.”  Obediently, i obeyed, as my Trainer touched various parts of my face and head with Her crop, commenting as She progressed.  “I see that your Mistress has excellent tastes ... the earrings look good on you and the shadings really bring out the color of your eyes.  Stick out your tongue.”  When i had complied, She continued.  “Ah, two studs, I see ... your Mistress must be planning on using that a lot!  W/we will have to make sure that you have time to practice using and controlling those longer tongue muscles.  Alright, pull in your tongue and re-lower your head.”

       When i had obeyed, Mistress Erin grasped my cheeks firmly with Her right hand and pursed my lips out.  “I said to pull in your tongue, boy, not to close your mouth.  In fact, when you are in the presence of your Superiors you should always keep your lips slightly parted ... as an indication that every part of your body is ready for inspection and use.  Understood?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin.”

       “I know that you have a lot to learn and not much time in which to learn it ... that is why I am here,” She said, softly stroking my cheek.  “Just give me your best effort and realize that everything I do is for your own good; all right, blue eyes?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin.  Thank You.”

       Mistress Erin nodded Her acknowledgment and continued Her examination of me with the crop.  Lightly, She toyed first with the training piercing on my left nipple, then the right one.  Noticing my attempt to hide a wince, She asked:

       “That smarts, a bit, eh?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i responded immediately, hoping to avoid any further distress to my distended nipples.

       “Yes,” i could feel Her smile, “these trainers are wicked ... but they will leave you with much larger, much more sensitive nipples ... and your Mistress will like that.  And don’t forget, dear boy,” She said, swatting with a bit more force at my right nipple, “I can make them hurt a good deal more should you misbehave.”

       Moving the tip of Her crop slowly down my sternum and over my stomach, She gently lifted the ring and bell that pierced my navel.

       “Oh, I do so love tummy piercings on boys, and I think these bells are simply delightful.  Do a little dance for Me, blue eyes, and let Me hear the tinkle of your slave bell.”

       Utterly humiliated by this command, i froze for a fraction of a second, but knew better than to disobey or even to hesitate longer.  Heedful of Mistress Erin’s earlier admonishment to move sensuously, i began to rotate hips and undulate my stomach as best i could, which brought a genuinely amused laugh from my Trainer as the pleasant chime of my bell filled air.

       “Well, I see that you will need a lot of work in this area,” She said, still laughing.  “But you will be expected to dance for the pleasure of Womyn on many occasions, and you need to start somewhere.  Try again, and this time move your arms above your head and buck your hips ... not aggressively, but sensuously ... and don’t move your feet.  And don’t worry about appearing lewd or wanton; when you are told to dance in this way it is to stress your carnal nature.”

       Following Mistress Erin’s instructions, i attempted the belly dance again, this time with arms intertwining above my head and hips not just swaying, but bucking gently to the unheard music.  Attempting to achieve the level of sensuousness and carnality that She wanted me to display, i closed my eyes and abandoned all the dignity i had learned in my academic preparation, military training, and many years as a respected Zutanian professional.  Relinquishing what i had been in that earlier life, i transcended into my new position as an Andrean slave and gave myself over to displaying my physical attributes, advertising my availability, and announcing my sexual submission.

       Mistress Erin allowed me to continue the dance for several minutes, before placing Her crop on my naked hip as a signal to stop.  She seemed genuinely pleased.  “That was much, much better, blue eyes ... you might just be a natural at this, after all.  I could just feel your pride, and reservations, and self consciousness melt away ... and feel you give yourself over to My command.  I like to see that.  Remember, the only pride you are allowed is pride in being a good slave; the only self-consciousness you are allowed is the knowledge of being your Mistress’s property.  When you dance like that, you dance for the pleasure of your Mistress, on display as Her prized possession.”

       Punctuating Her speech with a gentle tap to my slave bell, which caused it to emit a final chime, She moved Her crop lower, stopping at the “virginity heart” carved out of my pubic hair.

       “This is so cute, blue eyes!  I generally think ‘the less male hair, the better,’ but I must admit that I love these little patterns ... and boys find them so humiliating.  Right now, my pet wears one in the shape of a bisected circle — a traditional symbol of Female authority — and he hates it.  Maybe your Owner will have you wear others after Her dildo make this one obsolete.”

       Moving Her crop lower, she lifted first my entubed penis and then my surgically lowered testes.  “Hmmm, I see that your Mistress has allowed you to keep your balls and has plans for this little cock of yours ... you’re a lucky boy.  Many Womyn would have automatically gelded a boy of your age and size ... but, then again, you are pretty cute.  We’ll see if your Mistress regrets Her decision.”

       Mistress Erin used Her crop to move my scrotum back and forth.  “I like how your Mistress has stretched your ball sac; loose, swinging ones are so much more attractive than tight sacs that bunch up under the body.  When I allow you to walk upright, I want to see your hips swivel smartly, so that your cock bounces and these” — She jostled my balls up and down on Her crop — “swing noticeably.  Do I make myself clear?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i managed to say, nearly choking on the pain She was causing ... and, even more, on the apprehension of what might follow.

       Clearly noticing my discomfort, Mistress Erin stopped the movement of Her crop and asked me in a flat voice:

       “It seems that you don’t like having your genitals touched, blue eyes.  Well, you will have to get over that ... and I suggest you do so quickly.  These are not, after all, ‘your genitals’ ... they are your Mistress’s property.  They will be on constant display, your Mistress will undoubtedly handle them a good deal (after all, what’s the point in letting a boy keep his balls if You’re not going to play with them), and you can expect that She will allow many Others to use them as well.  Let me warn you that you are never, ever to flinch when a Woman touches these balls, pull back from such a touch, attempt to close your legs, or attempt to avoid Her touch in any way ... you are to relax, give yourself eagerly, and be thankful that a Superior is showing any interest in ‘your genitals.’” Letting my ball sac drop from the end of Her crop, She continued, “We/e will work on this a lot in the coming days, and I expect to see marked improvement.  Understood?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i replied, breathing a bit easier now that the crop had been withdrawn.

       Moving around to my right side, my Trainer continued to cast an appraising eye over me, measuring me with Her crop.  Standing directly behind me now, She ran Her crop down my left bottom cheek, then slapped its underside softly.

       “you have a very cute little ass, blue eyes,” She commented.

       “Thank You, Mistress Erin,” i replied ... not really knowing whether She desired to hear me speak or not.

       “Why, you’re welcome, boy.  It’s small, tight, well shaped ... and I bet it will show nice color under a whip.  Hmmm ... I see that your Mistress hasn’t had you branded yet.  Do you know what that means?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin.”

       “And just what does it mean, boy?”

       Gulping hard, i said, “It means that She wants Her boy conscious for his branding, Mistress Erin.”

       “And how does that make you feel?”

       Gulping again, finding if difficult to discuss this matter with much composure, i answered, “It makes this boy very frightened, Mistress Erin ... but a boy’s feelings are unimportant.”

       Behind me, i could feel Mistress Erin smiling with pleasure at my responses.  “Those are both very good replies, boy.  Branding is a painful process and you are right to be frightened ... and you are also correct that your feelings matter not one iota in this.  your Mistress has decided that She wants you to know the full pain and humiliation of your marking.  It’s not something I would do to My boy, but your Mistress is one of a growing number of Womyn who feel it is a useful rite to seal male submission ... and They may be right.  When the time comes, I know that your training will show and that you will make both your Mistress and Me proud with how well you bear the ordeal.”

       Mistress Erin paused and ran Her crop down my spine, causing me to arch my back.  “Now, boy, I want for you to bend over deeply from the waist.”

       She was not pleased with my efforts in this regard.  “Lower, boy, you must bow deeply and fully.”  Straining, i dropped my torso another painful inch.  “More.”  Again, my muscles aching at the unaccustomed position, i lowered myself further.  “A little further, blue eyes.  C’mon, you can do it.  I see that W/we are going to have to work on limbering you up a bit.  But that will do for now.”

       After a pause to let allow me to feel fully the discomfort of being stretched thus, She continued:

       “Move your hands down and part your ass cheeks for me.”

       As my face flushed both from my position and the humiliation of exposing my anus in such a fashion, i complied.  When i had done so, Mistress Erin ran Her crop lightly from the back of my scrotum, through the crack, and up to my tail bone.

       “Very nice, boy, very nice.  Is your male hole tight, blue eyes?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin, it is.”

       “Would you like for it to be stretched?”

       This was a question that i certainly had not anticipated, but i figured that i knew the proper answer.”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin ... although a boy’s likes and dislikes are unimportant.”

       “Another good answer, blue eyes; you are learning quickly.  Why should your anus be stretched, boy?”

       Another question i was unprepared for, and i hesitated a bit before answering meekly:

       “For my Mistress’s pleasure, Mistress Erin.”

       Behind me, Mistress Erin stroked my bottom gently with Her crop indicating Her satisfaction with my reply.  “Very good answer, boy ... you are learning.”

       Mistress Erin moved around to stand in front of me again, snapped Her fingers twice, and pointed a painted nail at Her feet.  Immediately, i dropped to my knees, as Mistress had instructed me.

       Dissatisfaction clear in Her voice, my trainer said, “Back on your feet, boy, and assume your previous position.”  When i had complied, She continued: “When a Woman snaps Her fingers twice and points toward Her feet, you are to kneel and kiss Her boots.  Try it again ... and remember to be graceful about it,” She said, repeating Her gesture.

       This time, i knelt with greater care and fluidity, and lowered my lips to kiss Her highly polished boots.

       “Again,” Mistress Erin commanded, causing me to rise, bow, and kneel again at the snap of Her fingers.  As before, i was forced to repeat this exercise several times until my Trainer was satisfied that i had learned my lesson.

       Allowing me to remain on my knees, She asked, “Will I have to remind you of this command again, boy?”

       “No, Mistress Erin,” i replied softly.

       “I hope not, boy.  W/we will go over a variety of hand commands while you are with Us, and I expect you to grasp them quickly.  But that is enough for now.  Kiss my feet again, and thank Me for taking such time and effort with you.”

       Obeying promptly, i lowered my lips again to Her feet and, with my head held just above Her boots and reeling from the strong smell of leather (a scent that was becoming fixed in my mind with Female authority), said softly: “Thank You, Mistress Erin, for taking such time and effort to train this boy,” then knelt back on my heels.

       “Will you be good if I leave your wrists unbound?  No touching yourself where you know you shouldn’t or using your hands when you know you are permitted only the use of your mouth?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i replied demurely, thankful for Her concern.  “This boy will be good.”

       “Alright, I’ll trust you to behave, but don’t even think of disappointing me, boy.”  Changing tones, She continued. “When I leave, I want you to drink the water in your bowl and then to rest.  The water is treated with chemicals that will clean your teeth and freshen your breath, so I want you to drink it all.  The rest will help you recover from your body mods.  I’ll be back later today for another session ... perhaps I’ll take you for a walk so that you can get a bit of sunshine and stretch your legs.  Now, bid me farewell properly as you have been taught to do.”

       Knowing that She was referring to what Dr. Moreaux had taught me, i lowered my forehead to the floor directly before Her feet and said in softest voice: “Goodbye, Mistress Erin.  Thank You for the kindness You have shown to this boy, and please forgive his bad behavior.”

       Above me, Mistress Erin responded in a satisfied tone.  “Goodbye, blue eyes.  I am pleased with the progress you have made ... and W/we shall continue shortly.”  Then, turning toward the entrance to the cage, She said in a measured timbre: “Door ... open,” which caused to door to glide open with a slight hiss and then to close behind Her with a similar sound after She strode from the room.

       i considered it wise to remain in the kowtowing position until i was sure that Mistress Erin had left the room.  In the silence that followed Her departure, i slowly lifted my forehead and returned to an upright kneeling position.  Aware that Her pleasant scent still filled the room, i moved on my knees into the corner to drink from my water bowl.  Thirsty, at first i drank eagerly, lapping up the water quickly.  Then i began to worry what effect all of this water — perhaps a quart — would have on my bladder.  The thought crossed my mind to leave some of the water for later, but not knowing when my Trainer would return, i decided this was not a good idea.  So, i obediently drank the bowl dry and then reclined on my pallet.  Several moments after i had lain down, the lights in the room dimmed considerably ... making me wonder if i were being observed and how.  In the lowered light of my cage, i lay looking at the obscure ceiling.  As my body relaxed, i realized how tense i had been during Mistress Erin’s examination and how much it had tired me.  Curling into a fetal position — a posture that i had never used for sleeping at home, but which i found myself using with some frequency since the chattelry  — i had soon dozed off to a sleep.

       Pursued in dreams by images of Mistress Erin, my sleep was restless and i awakened with a start when i rolled over and rubbed my nipple piercing against the mat.  In the semi-darkness of my cage, i was unable to get back to sleep, so lay there reflecting on my new existence.  i did my best to remember all of the lessons that both Dr. Moreaux and Mistress Erin had stressed during Their sessions with me, and tried to prompt my muscle memory to recall the proper examination stances.  After reviewing these matters several times, my mind began to wander.  One thing that rang in my memory was that Mistress Erin’s inflection ... Her characteristic way of stressing certain words in a sentence, which i was to learn was a typical southern Andrean speech pattern ... reminded me very much of the one of my principal Handlers in the chattelry.  And that connection triggered a flood of memories about my experiences there.  Although my best guess was that it was only a matter of weeks since i’d first been taken to the chattelry and only days since i’d left for the vending center, the memories seemed like they were from a lifetime ago.

       When the news of the Zutatian surrender broke, prisoners like myself were told that we would be moved from the POW camps to more appropriate holding facilities.  For a long time, we were kept in the dark about exactly what our status was ... or would be.  When we made enquiries, we were told firmly — but still politely — that no final decisions had been made regarding the future of either our country or ourselves, but that we would be kept informed regarding developments.

       In the week following news of the surrender, the POW camp was re-organized; officers were separated from enlisted men, and then further segregated by rank (which i later learned was also done with the enlisted men and NCOs).  i was placed in a grouping with the several dozen other captains in the camp, and we were sequestered in a special dorm and not allowed to have any contact with the other POWs.  Although i did not understand the logic of this at the time, it became clear to me in retrospect that this was an inspired decision.  Not only did this deprive us of male authority figures, but it broke down the military hierarchy that might have formed the basis of some sort of organized resistance toward what was to come.

       This segregation was continued after we were hover-trucked the several hours from the POW camp to the chattelry (although we only learned this name later; when we arrived, it was referred to simply as the “Facility”).  In hindsight, it was clear to me that the brand new accommodations of the Facility had been constructed especially for us and were located a good distance from the normal chattelry buildings, where Andrean males were undoubtedly being processed for vending much as they had been for hundreds of years.  Upon arrival, we were told that we would have to surrender our uniforms and boots, and were issued new clothes to wear.  These outfits were of pale blue, light cotton and most closely resembled loose fitting, comfortable pajamas.  Each top was clearly marked with a serial number that corresponded to that on the POW bracelet each of us had been issued when captured.  Neither our boots nor our underwear were replaced, but at the time neither seemed like a major hardship ... the Female guards largely left us alone, the floors were carpeted, and for a few days at least life was at least as easy as it had been in the camp ... although the rules were a bit more rigorous (e.g., a strict lights out, no-talking periods, no food or drink in the sleeping area) and showers were no longer private, but communal, and overseen sometimes by armed Female guards.

       For much of the first week, we were treated largely as students.  Several times a day, we were taken to an adjoining auditorium, and made to watch films or attend lectures on Andrean culture.  These presentations were invariably well done.  Both utilized state-of-the-art technology that far outstripped what Zutanian culture offered and were clearly designed to impress the audience ... which they did.  The movies used interface screens that were three-dimensional, and techniques i still do not understand that utilized tactile and olfactory responses, as well as visual and auditory ones.  The lectures featured extremely adept speakers (all Female, of course, as was every One we saw in the movies), who made use of voice commands to pepper Their presentations with multi-media pyro-technics and much vaunted Andrean anti-gravitational devices to move effortlessly around the entire auditorium.  In terms of content, both the movies and the speakers at first simply stressed the marvels of Andrean civilization and culture ... universal literacy rates; virtual elimination of crime, vandalism, violence; the glories of Andrean art and literature; path-breaking advances in medicine, basic science, computer applications, transportation, public health, energy, agriculture, and other branches of technology.  There were only the vaguest references to the fact that all of this occurred surrounded by — and some of it depended upon — the total enslavement of males.  Looking back, it amazes me that we were treated with such dignity during those early days — we were allowed to sit, we were addressed without disrespect, the Andrean Womyn we interacted with did not demand the use of any honorific titles (other than Their military rank, which came quite naturally to soldiers like us), we were allowed to ask questions.

       Gradually, however, over the course of days, things began to change.  First, the lectures and movies became more pointed, subtly and abstract at first, then more graphic and without regard for our sensitivities.  There were lectures on the history of Matriarchy in Andrean society, the development of current attitudes regarding Females and males, and the benefits of such a system to both G/genders.  The movies began to show images of Andrean males ... just faces at first, then more of their bodies ... always happy, but always perfectly submissive.  By the end phase of the indoctrination, Speakers brought Andrean males to Their presentations to demonstrate proper carriage, speech patterns, and attitudes.  Second,  we were split up into smaller and smaller groups ... from an initial group of several dozen, i ended in one with fewer than ten members.  These smaller groups were easier to control and exerted greater peer pressure to conform, especially when group punishments and rewards were introduced.  Third, in these smaller groups, we were given over to the administration of sterner Womyn ... and at some point They even began to refer to themselves as Handlers.  Slowly, They accustomed us to showing greater and greater deference to Them and other Womyn ... rising at first when They entered and later kneeling, using the honorific term “Ma’am” whenever speaking, limiting our speech to responses when spoken to.

       Major changes also began occurring in our dress.  The outfits were regularly collected for washing while we showered and replaced with other items of clothing.  First, a top that did not button but left the chest and abdomen partly on display.  Then a sheerer, silkier, tighter set with capri-length pants and a cropped top that left the abdomen constantly exposed.  Then tighter fitting shorts and a mesh top. Then a very short, very tight, wrap around skirt, with no top.  Finally, sometime during the third week, i suppose, we returned from the showers to find no clothes for us at all; we were told that the situation was temporary and that new “uniforms” were being processed ... but we never received them, and from then on were kept entirely naked.

       By the time this happened, most of us had become resigned to our fates ... some even eager to end the charade and get on with what we knew to be coming.  From the earliest, any in our group who resisted the suggestions, rules, or orders given by the Andrean Handlers, or who were disruptive in any way were removed.  Sometimes they were returned hours or days later ... silent and compliant after their experiences, which they refused to discuss even in whispers; some we never saw again.  One of my comrades, whom i had known briefly in OCS and was named jim, rebelled fairly late in the process.  Refusing to kneel in the presence of a young Handler who must have been 15 years his junior, he turned away from Her and started urging all of us to refuse.  Before He had spoken half a dozen words, however, the Handler used a remote control device to bring him to his knees in excruciating pain (we were told later that the identification bracelets we were issued at the POW camp contained a powerful chip that could be activated to cause pain enough to induce unconsciousness).  As jim writhed on the floor in agony, the Handler stood over him and made him beg for both mercy and forgiveness.  When he had done both to Her satisfaction — a lengthy and painful process that She forced us to watch — She had his limp, quivering body removed from the auditorium, and we never saw him again at the chattelry.  (i did, however, see him months later on the streets of the capital city.  Body modifications had changed his appearance somewhat, but it was definitely the former comrade i had known as jim.  Ironically, he was being walked down the street — utterly naked of course and looking every bit the typical, docile Andrean male — by a very young Female, who led him by a testicle harness.)

       After that, little effort was made to hide the fact that we would be kept in the Andrean Motherland as slaves.  By the time we were informed that we were to consider ourselves Andrean males (subject to the same rules, fashions, and punishments as indigenous males), we had already begun acting like them ... kneeling in the presence of Womyn, addressing Womyn only as “Ma’am”, keeping our heads bowed, asking permission to speak, becoming accustomed to being kept nude.  Several days after the incident with jim, our group was broken up for the last time.  After the daily shower, we were taken --- still wet and shivering --- by Handlers to individual cells in the main chattelry building.  In that small, cold cell, i was visited by a Female official who delivered the news i had long expected.  All Zutatian prisoners of war had been claimed by the Andrean government as spoils of war.  Henceforth, i was to consider myself an Andrean male and, in due course, i would be placed on the auction block, where i would be vended to the highest bidder ... the proceeds of my sale going toward the reparations owed by Zutatians.  In quick order, i was then examined by a Doctor (really a veterinarian, i would soon learn), a Sorter (who determined me suitable for the personal slave auction block), an Appraiser (who established the opening bid and contract price for my sale), and a Photographer (who took frontal, side, and back pictures of me for the auction catalogue).

       So caught up was i in the memories of the past few weeks, that i had not noticed that the lights in the cage had slowly been raised ... a fact i did not realize until i was shaken from my reminiscences by the sounds of a Womyn entering the hallway.  Moving from the mat into a kneeling position in front of the door, i realized from the muffled sound of voices and the clicking of heels that there were, in fact, at least two Womyn moving down the hall.  And, although i had never heard it before, i recognized the laugh of One of Them as belonging to Mistress Erin.  The Womyn stopped outside of my doorway and talked for a few moments in lowered voices that i could not understand, before One of Them continued down the hallway and the same subtle change in lighting indicated that i was being examined through the inspection slot.  As before, the door slid open with a faint hiss and i smelled Mistress Erin’s distinctive scent as She entered the room.

       “Well, that took longer than I thought it would, because I had to whip the living shit out of another boy I am training,” Mistress Erin said, towering over me.   “That little one belongs to a Woman who owns several slaves, and She likes to have them play with each other — sexually, that is — for Her amusement.  This young pup — he just turned 18, I think — is having terrible trouble with this and has been giving me problems for several days.  I’ve probably been too permissive, but today he disobeyed a direct order in a training session ... and, for the love of the Goddess, it wasn’t even anything overtly sexual, just fondling and licking another boy.  Well, that did it, and I lit into him.  It wasn’t just his disobedience that set me off (although that was bad enough), it was his attitude ... suggesting that his Owner had no right to train him in this way,” Mistress Erin unloaded.  “As he was begging for mercy under my whip, I believe he began to re-think his viewpoint on his Owner’s rights.  And he’ll have plenty of time to do so, since I left him tied to the punishment pillar in the lobby.  Perhaps I’ll take you by to visit him later, to let you see what your ass will look like if you really piss me off....  But, enough of that.... Hello, blue eyes.”

       During Mistress Erin’s entering diatribe, i had stayed stock still in my kneeling position.  Upon being greeted by Her, however, i lowered myself into the kowtow position and, with my forehead resting on the floor before Her feet, said softly:

       “Greetings, Mistress Erin.  This boy begs forgiveness for his earlier impertinent behavior.”

       “Very nicely done, boy,” She replied warmly. “I am impressed by how quickly you learn ... and, after the beating I just administered, you are looking like a perfectly trained little pet.  Please kneel up.  Did you get some rest?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i replied after returning from the kowtow position to a normal kneeling pose.

       “Good.  Ready for a bit of exercise?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin.”

       “I think a walk around the neighborhood is in order,” She said, leaning over and clipping a leather leash to one of the D-rings on my collar.  “Once W/we get outside, I’ll allow you to walk upright, but down here in the kennel We have a rule against allowing boys to stand.”  Saying that, She snapped Her fingers three times and — after only the briefest hesitation while i struggled to remember exactly what that meant — i lowered myself onto all fours.

       “Good boy.  Stay slightly behind me and to my right; keep your head lowered and your eyes on my heels.”

       With that, She tugged gently on the leash and, like a good puppy, i followed Her out the door and down the hallway.  At the end of the hall, near the door that would lead us out of the kennel and into the other parts of the Clinic, She stopped and pointed toward an open vestibule that contained two rectangular holes in the floor.

       “Do you need to tinkle before O/our walk, boy?”

       Just now realizing that all the water i had drunk was beginning to exert pressure on my bladder, i answered that i did.

       “Alright, you’ve earned a treat for reasonably good behavior ... and this is it ... I won’t make you piss outside on a tree on your first day.  Step up there.”

       As Mistress had instructed me when leaving the auction house, i knelt straddling the floor hole and — with the chastity tube directing my penis head downwards — had no trouble urinating out the entire contents of my bladder.  When the long stream of urine had stopped, my Trainer asked from behind me: “Are you finished, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin.”  With that, She used Her omnipresent riding crop to shake the last few drops of pee from my penis, then pulled on the leash to move me back into the main hallway.

       “What do you say, boy?”

       “Thank You, Mistress Erin, for allowing this boy to relieve himself inside.”

       “You’re welcome, blue eyes.  Now let’s get going.  Door ... open,” She said in a flat tone that caused the door at the end of the hallway to open in front of U/us.  Tugging on my leash, She led me — heeling behind Her — out of the kennel wing and into the main part of the Clinic.  Even though the hard tiles of the kennel gave way to intermittently carpeted floors, i had hoped that once W/we entered the Clinic proper, Mistress Erin would allow me to stand ... but She did not and continued to lead me on all fours down the hallway with the examination rooms (in one of which i noticed another boy strapped to the table and his feet in the stirrups).  At the Technician’s station, my Trainer stopped in order to display me to Ms. Adrianne, who seemed happy to see me.

       “Why, blue eyes, don’t you look just lovely.”

       “Kiss Ms. Adrianne’s feet, boy, and thank Her for that kind compliment.”

       Immediately i obeyed, lowering my lips to touch the other Woman’s feet and then, before raising my head, said softly, “Thank You, Ms. Adrianne, for Your kind comments about this boy.”

       “My pleasure, blue eyes.  Now, stand up and let Me see how you look now that you’re all customized for your Mistress.”

       Mistress Erin snapped Her fingers thrice, indicating that i could rise, which i did and submitted to Ms. Adrianne’s inspection.  “Yes, your Mistress really has fine tastes and an eye for detail,” Ms. Adrianne said, after surveying me appraisingly and having me turn fully around.  “Has this one given you any trouble, Erin.”

       After snapping Her fingers three times and dropping me back down to all fours, my Trainer responded.  “No, not much.  Like all the zuties I’ve seen, he’s terribly rough around the edges and needs a good deal of practice with even the most elementary things, but he is obedient and eager to please.”  Stroking my head as She continued, Mistress Erin said, “W/we haven’t gotten much beyond the basics yet, but so far he’s been really well behaved.”

       “I’m pleased to hear that, Sis.  Apparently you didn’t have quite the same luck with that poor boy out on the whipping post.”

       “No,” Mistress Erin sighed, “that one has been a handful.  But you should have heard him whimpering for mercy by the time I got through with him.  I think he’ll be much more compliant by tomorrow.  Has anyone else had a go at him?”

       “I don’t think so, Erin ... although a couple of the clients may have given him a stroke or two.  When I approached him, he started sobbing as soon as I ran a nail along his throbbing ass cheek.  You really worked him over well.”

       “Well, you’ve seen his brothers ... his Owner whips them hard and often.  If he gives Her any of the attitude he’s been giving Me, She’ll take every single square inch of skin off his ass and then serve him his balls for dinner.”

       “I know, Sis,” Ms. Adrianne laughed, “... he’ll soon learn that You’ve done him a favor.”

       “I hope so, but I’m sure he doesn’t think of it as a favor yet.  Anyway, W/we’ve got to run ... blue eyes needs a bit of exercise.”

       Mistress Erin then led me through the door to the outer office, where She stopped to talk to the Receptionist.  As She told the Receptionist that She was taking the “boy from cage eight” out for an exercise walk, i had a few moments to survey the lobby and was struck by two things.  First, the unfortunate boy who had earlier earned my Trainer’s wrath was indeed chained to a pillar in a far corner of the room.  An electronic sign on the pillar read that this boy had been disobedient, was being punished, and that any and all Womyn were invited to contribute to his discipline.  The boy’s body hung limply from the pillar, and his buttocks and upper thighs bore the red welts and darkening bruises of a severe whipping.  The other thing i noticed was that of the boys kneeling in the waiting room with their Owners, one appeared to be another recently vended Zutanian.  The boy was in his early thirties, still had his chest and pubic hair, and bore no physical markings of ownership.  As our lowered eyes met briefly and surreptitiously, i could feel his apprehension at the image of his future that he saw in my present condition, and quickly turned my eyes away.

       Above me, i heard Mistress Erin ask the Receptionist if She had a spare pair of booties at the desk.  When the Receptionist replied that She did, Mistress Erin took them and then dropped the sock-like items on the floor beside me.  “Put those on your feet, boy.”  As i struggled with the booties (which were sheer and skin color like panty hose, but made of an incredibly strong, incredibly flexible fabric that provided total protection for a slave’s feet), Mistress Erin placed Her end of my leash into my mouth and walked over to the whipping post.  Running Her long nails along the tortured butt of the poor boy (which brought him to life, making him wiggle his hips and moan audibly), She whispered something into his ear, gave him a soft smack on his behind (which brought an even loader moan), and returned to retrieve the leash from my mouth.  Snapping Her fingers three times to bring me back to all fours, Mistress Erin led me out of the building with a sharp tug on the lead.

       Immediately outside the door, where the soft carpeting of the lobby gave way to the biting concrete of the sidewalk, my Trainer stopped and lit a cigarette.  After taking a couple of long drags on it and scrutinizing me, She spoke.

       “Does your Owner smoke, boy?”

       “This boy does not know, Mistress Erin,” i answered truthfully.

       “Hmmm ... well, if She does, She will probably use you as an ashtray from time to time, or let Her friends use you as one.  Kneel up, lift your chin, open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.”  Fearing what was to come, i nevertheless obeyed instantly.  Knowing full well my level of anxiety, Mistress Erin nevertheless left me kneeling there in that humiliating posture while She casually continued to smoke and examine Her nails.  After what seemed an eternity, She lowered Her lit cigarette to my mouth and (as i gulped hard) tapped the ash of onto my tongue.  Although tears came immediately to my eyes and the hiss of the ash hitting my tongue is a sound i shall never forget, the pain was fleeting and not as bad as i had suspected.  As a reflex, i began to swallow until Mistress Erin snapped Her fingers sharply and said “No.  Not until I give you permission.”  She made me continue to hold the ash on my outstretched tongue until She had completed Her smoke, dropped the butt to the ground, and crushed it beneath Her booted foot.  Only then did She say, “Alright, you may swallow, boy.”  When i had downed the ash and while i was attempting to wash the bitter taste from my mouth with saliva, Mistress Erin lowered my chin with Her hand and continued.  “Until I know that your Owner plans on using you as an ashtray, I won’t make you do that again.  But I am very pleased that you did as ordered without any resistance ... many pups find that difficult.

       “Now, boy, is this concrete hurting your knees?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin, it is.”

       “Would you like to stand?

       “Yes, Mistress Erin, this boy would.”

       “Alright then, blue eyes, beg for permission to rise to your feet.”

       Having become used to such exercises now, i was prepared for this and responded immediately.  “Please, Mistress Erin, this humble boy meekly begs for Your gracious permission to rise and walk upright.”

       Mistress Erin chuckled slightly at my plea and said “That’s better, boy.  But will you behave yourself and walk properly if I allow you to stand?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i replied earnestly.

       “And just what does it mean to for a male to ‘walk properly’?”

       “Mistress Erin, it means that a boy should walk at a Woman’s heels, with his head bowed, his eyes lowered, his back straight, his chest forward, his hands in the small of his back, and ... his hips swaying.”

       “And why should he sway his hips?” She asked, continuing the catechism.

       “So that his penis bounces and his testicles swing, Mistress Erin.”

       “And why should his genitals do such things?”

       “Because Womyn find it attractive and appealing, Mistress Erin.”

       “Very nicely done, boy ... you may rise.”

       When i had risen to my feet and stood before Her, my Trainer spent a few moments doting over my appearance, making sure that my hair was patted back, that all of my piercings were properly aligned, that my stomach was pulled in, and that my encased penis hung straight.  “When I have you out in public, I expect you to be on your very best behavior.  I guarantee that you will deeply regret it if you give Me any reason to punish you in public.  If you think a private whipping is painful, you don’t even want to think about how much worse a public beating would be.  Understood?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i answered meekly.

       With that, Mistress Erin put on a pair of stylish sunglasses, tugged on the leash, and W/we were off on O/our walk.  For a long while, Mistress Erin led me down the quiet, tree-lined streets of the neighborhood without saying anything, the silence of the early afternoon broken only by the sharp sound of Her heels, the soft padding of my bootied feet, and the snap of Her fingers as She had me kneel at crosswalks.  After heaven alone knows how many days shut up inside first the chattelry and then the Clinic, it felt good to be outside in the sunshine ... even naked, collared, and heeling behind a Woman brandishing a riding crop.  As W/we walked among the large homes and manicured lawns of the residential quarter near the Clinic, i was able to catch fleeting glimpses of life here ... naked males weeding flower beds, Womyn lounging beside pools being served drinks by kneeling males, a street sign indicating that this community enforced it “male leash law”, a Woman walking three boys on a triple leash, another Woman walking a boy on all fours while Her young Daughter rode on his back.  While keeping my eyes lowered as required, i made note of these images as best i could.

       After some little time, Mistress Erin broke the silence.  “Did you notice the boy on the punishment post, blue eyes?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i replied.

       “Good.  I want you to remember what you saw, since your Owner has signed a waiver allowing you to be put there, should you misbehave.  Enough said, boy?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin, this boy understands.”

       That was the entirety of O/our conversation during the walk, which must have lasted for some 30-40 minutes.  Returning to the Clinic, Mistress Erin signed me back in at the reception desk, had me remove the booties, and led me back to the kennel on my hands and knees.  Rather than returning me immediately to my cage, however, She led me past it and into a shower room further down the hall, where She removed the leash and had me stand. Pointing to a far corner of the room, Mistress Erin told me to face the wall with my legs widely parted.  Behind me, She turned on a hose and began spraying me down, taking time to torment my scrotum a bit, before ordering me to bend over and part my butt cheeks so that She could wash my rectum.  After i was entirely wet in back, She had me turn around and repeated the procedure in front, again using the stream of water to play painfully with my genitals.  Directing my attention to a large piece of soap on the floor of the shower, She told me to soap myself up well from head to toe, but not to dilly-dally playing with my Mistress’s toys.  Then She re-directed the hose onto me, washed away the lather, re-attached the leash to my collar, and led me --- shivering --- back to my cage.

       In the cell, Mistress Erin allowed me to dry myself with a towel that had been left there and then had me kneel facing the door.  Pointing to a red tile, perhaps three inches square, that had been attached to the door about three feet from the floor, She said:

       “I am leaving you with a little homework exercise for this evening, blue eyes.”  Pointing to the red square, She continued.  “This is a mirror that has been coated with a sweet, hard candy.  Tonight, before you go to sleep, I want you to exercise your tongue by licking the mirror completely clean of the candy.  Don’t stop until you have completely cleaned the mirror, and you will be rewarded by being able to see how your Mistress has personalized your face and body.  Do you understand?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i replied obediently, my eyes locked on the mirror.

       “Good.  you will be fed later in the evening, and I will see you again tomorrow, when W/we will continue O/our lessons.”

       When my Trainer had departed, locking me into my cage for the night, i began to lick the candy square as instructed.  The red candy covering the mirror was very hard and thick, but had a pleasant raspberry flavor.  Kneeling and using only my tongue, it took a long time for me to lick all of the candy from the mirror ... and soon both my jaws and my tongue became quite fatigued.  But i knew, however, that i must continue the task Mistress Erin had set for me or risk the full fury of Her wrath.  After what seemed like at least an hour of exhausting effort, i finally cleaned all of the candy away with my tongue and was able to examine myself — my head and face, at least — in the underlying mirror.  A bit afraid of what i might see, how foolish i might look with piercings and permanently tattooed features, i was relieved to find that Dr. Moreaux and Mistress Erin had been correct ... the modifications actually looked rather nice.  The blue liner tattooed into my eye lids really did highlight the blue of my eyes, the collagen implanted into my lips made them fuller and more appealing, and the rouge injected to dye my lips and nipples made them look not freakish but simply a bit more pronounced.  i probably would have examined myself more fully, but within several minutes i heard the click of heels approaching down the hallway.  Dropping onto my knees into the presentation stance, i held my breath as the heels approached and stopped outside the door.  Rather than opening the door, however, the Womyn in the hallway merely slid a plate of slave chow through the lower slot.  Knowing better than to move a muscle, i waited until the sound of the Woman’s heels had receded back down the long kennel hallway before even raising my eyes to examine my dinner.  When i did so, i saw that it was like my earlier meal ... hash pour over a mound of rice.  Instead of the star-shaped cookies that had topped the previous meal, however, this one was topped with a variety of bits of chicken, pieces of red lettuce and raw spinach, half chewed carrots, several grapes ... what looked to be the remains of a gourmet chicken salad.  As i inched toward the platter on my knees, i noticed that a piece of paper peeked out from under the dish; i immediately noticed that it was Mistress Erin’s stationery.  Sliding it out, i read my Trainer’s elegant handwriting:

blue eyes:

I am very pleased with your performance today ... although you may not realize it, you made great progress.  I fully appreciate that none of this is easy for you ... it is not supposed to be and, I assure you, it will not get any easier.  If you will continue to display the effort, attitude, and behavior you did today, however, I will make things as easy for you as I can.  In recognition of your good behavior, I have added some treats to your dinner.  They are scraps from my lunch, which I expect you to savor individually and to thank Me for when I see you tomorrow.  As always, you are to eat every bite, lick the plate clean, and drink a healthy amount of your water.  Then, you are to go directly to bed ... you will need all of your strength for tomorrow’s activities.

M. Erin

Mistress Erin’s instructions were largely unnecessary.  Famished and weary, i devoured the hash and Her special treats ... the first “real” food i had had in days ... then, after cleaning the plate and drinking my fill of water from my bowl, collapsed onto my pallet and fell easily into a deep sleep.

The next day, and those that followed, took on a fairly regular routine.  The lights in my cage would come on, waking me to the day.  Soon after, a platter of food (almost always topped with treats from Mistress Erin) would be slid through the door.  Then, Mistress Erin would collect me for O/our first session of the day.  Except for one painful day, when my Trainer demonstrated the efficacy of the urine control valve in my penis, morning sessions always began with an opportunity for me to go to the “bathroom”.  Unlike the first day, however, my “bathroom” was now out of doors, even once during a light rain.  If i had been good and Mistress Erin was pleased with me, She allowed me to relieve myself in the relative privacy of the kennel’s exercise yard ... but if She were displeased with me, She took me across the street to a park where i was made to go in public in front of dozens of Womyn of all ages.  Whenever i had to do a “big job,” Mistress Erin had me clean up my “mess” into a small plastic bag, which She made me carry dangling from my teeth until i could empty it into the compost barrel beside the Clinic’s small garden.  The remainder of the mornings was then usually devoted to physical training ... ranging from the relaxed to the intense.  Some mornings, Mistress Erin had me run around the track in the exercise yard ... or made me trot behind Her through the neighborhood as She rode a bicycle, or later in my training pull Her in a specially designed “boy cart.” Others, She worked me in small weight room.  On still others, i was made to fulfill more productive tasks, such as moving furniture in the Clinic office, toting files down to a basement storage room, or weeding in the garden.  As at O/our first meeting, anytime my performance displeased Mistress Erin, She stopped me, administered a punishment (that ranged from the light to what i thought of then as severe), and made me repeat the task (sometimes several dozen times) until She was satisfied with both the result and the unlikelihood that i would repeat my mistake.

Sometime around midday, Mistress Erin would return me to my cage for several hours ... to allow me to rest and re-hydrate, and to give Her time to work with other boys She was training.  In mid- to late-afternoon, She would return for several more hours of instruction.  These afternoon and evening sessions seemed more geared toward obedience training than physical conditioning, although they could be as strenuous as the morning hours.  These sessions included a wide range of activities from work on hand commands, to trips to get me used to public places (such as restaurants, stores, and even a library), to an afternoon spent exposing me to ponyboy and puppyboy behavior (during which i fetched a stick for Mistress Erin at least a hundred times), to erotic dancing instruction, to “small tastes” of what different “disciplinary instruments” (such as the crop, the cane, the cat of nine tails, even the bullwhip) felt like on naked skin, to lessons on grooming, to time on a “tanning spit” to even out my color (something like an upright tanning booth, but much more humiliating, since the boy was held in place by plastic rods inserted into the mouth and anus), and even several “bird and the bees” discussions regarding how i could expect my Owner to use me sexually.  After these second sessions, Mistress Erin would again allow me to relieve myself and would then take me back to the kennel for a hosing down before feeding and bed.  While the days were difficult and each dawn brought the knowledge that i would face new challenges and indignities before sunset, Mistress Erin proved to be an excellent Trainer ... strict, but also encouraging, demanding yet also inspiring.  She certainly tolerated no hesitation or (Goddess forbid) disobedience, but also had an innate understanding of the physical and emotional limits beyond which further pressure becomes counterproductive.  It soon became as obvious to Her as it was to me that i awoke every morning eager to please Her and fell asleep each night satisfied only to the extent that i had done so.

The hardest day was the fifth.  After a morning that included both running and weight lifting, Mistress Erin replaced me in my cage for what i thought would be the usual rest period.  Instead, after a relatively short while, She returned and ... for the first time ... unlocked my chastity tube and slid it off my penis ... the bare, exposed bulb of the penis indicating that Mistress had indeed had my foreskin “cut.”   Without a word, but with a sharp slap to my face when i let slip a groan at the unexpected bliss i felt at the sudden freedom, She led me down to the shower, where She hosed me down thoroughly.  Then She re-attached my leash and led me on my knees up the stairs and out of the building, to a small, manicured lawn beside the Clinic.  As soon as i saw there were already three other Trainers and Their boys there, my heart began to beat a bit faster, since i knew that public training was the most difficult.  Sensing my apprehension, Mistress Erin stopped before W/we approached the group of chatting Trainers and kneeling subs.  Leaning down, She whispered soothingly and with real concern in my ear.  “I won’t lie to you, blue eyes, this will be one of the most difficult parts of your training.  But I expect nothing but excellent behavior from you, understood?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i managed to choke out.

       “It will all go much easier and be over much more quickly if you do exactly as you’re told.”  Lifting my chin with Her hand, She asked, “Will you do that for Me, blue eyes?”

       “Yes, Mistress Erin,” i whispered.

       With a kindly pat on my head, She tugged on my leash and W/we continued to where the group was standing.  Mistress Erin then unsnapped my leash and instructed me to kneel with my brothers, while She chatted for a few moments with Her fellow trainers.  As i knelt there, i noticed that i had seen all of the other Trainers and boys before, at least in passing in the kennel.  Two of the Trainers were somewhat older, perhaps in Their early thirties; the Other, like Mistress Erin, appeared to be in late teens.  Two of the slaves kneeling near me in the short, thick, soft grass were young, certainly still in their teens; from their appearance and demeanor, i concluded that they were indigenous Andrean males.  Like me, both had “virginity hearts” shaved from their pubic hairs.  The other slave was the Zutanian male i had noticed in the waiting room of the clinic on the day Mistress Erin took me out for my first walk.  Roughly my age or perhaps even a few years older, he had been through his “personalization” since i had seen him last ... his head had been completely shaved and, of course, all of his body hair --- save for a tuft above his penis, which had been shaved into the sign of the bisected circle --- had been removed; he wore thick rings in his nipples; his circumsised penis had been pierced and this ring was locked into a matching ring that pierced his scrotum; like me, he wore a slave bell in the ring that pierced his navel.

       Before i could take in more, the Trainers finished Their conversation and moved toward us.  Mistress Erin, along with the other young Trainer and one of the older Trainers, moved to stand behind us, while the other older Trainer told us to move ourselves on our knees into a straight line.  She was a tall, blonde Andrean Woman; She wore Her hair very short and was dressed in black silk pants and a white silk blouse, which was cut very low in the front.  In Her hand, She held a rattan cane.

       “My name is Mistress Sonya,” She began, looking us over, “and I am a Trainer here at the Clinic.  I will be coordinating this exercise today, although I will receive plenty of help from Mistresses Merideth, Erin, and Bethanie.  This session of your training is designed to make you more comfortable with your own bodies and to get you accustomed to the idea of interacting with other males ...  so that you may serve more gracefully, more freely, and more completely.  Those of you who fortunate enough to have been born and raised here” — She looked down on the young Andrean slaves — “already have a good idea of what your new Owners will expect of you.  Those of you who have joined Us more recently” — She moved Her eyes between the other Zutanian and me — “will have some catching up to do ... although I fully expect both of you to learn very quickly.”

       After pausing for a moment, She continued: “In Our society, boys like you who have been selected for household service will use your bodies to serve and pleasure your Owners.  Many Women, perhaps most, enjoy seeing boys playing with each other.  Sometimes this play will be entirely chaste ... wrestling matches, perhaps, or swimming together ... just chances for you to display your bodies.  But some Women — all of your Owners included — like to see more intimate play ... boys fucking and being fucked by other boys, to put it simply.  If you find this thought distasteful,” She looked, it seemed, directly at me, “let Me remind you that you have no right to harbor such opinions.  From the peak of your empty little heads to the stubs of your toes, from the tips of your pretty cocks to the deepest recesses of your still virginal assholes, each of you belongs completely o your Mistresses.  They — and They alone — will decide the uses to which your bodies will be put.  The only real option you have is to obey.  It will be much, much easier for you if W/we don’t have to beat that lesson into you.  Are there any questions before W/we begin O/our little exercise?”

       i swallowed hard at Mistress Sonya’s words and tone, but — like the other boys kneeling beside me — kept absolutely silent.

       After a brief moment in which Mistress Sonya surveyed us, She tapped me on the head with Her cane.  “Stand,” was Her simple command, and i obeyed promptly, remembering to keep my eyes lowered and my legs widely parted.

       “What is your name, boy?”

       “This boy is named blue eyes, Ma’am.”

       Behind me, i heard the whistle of a sharply swung crop just a millisecond before it bit into the soft bare flesh of my bottom.  Fighting both the surprise and the ribbon of pain that crossed my right buttock, i struggled to keep composure and balance.

       Behind me, Mistress Erin spoke softly, but with an anger that cooled Her voice.  “blue eyes is only a nickname, boy, one given you by the Staff here ... you know that.  The proper response to Mistress Sonya’s question is “This boy’s Mistress has not yet honored him with a name, Ma’am.’” She punctuated this statement with another smart swat to my buttocks.  “Now, let Us hear you say it, boy.”

       Chastened and blushing, i replied as ordered: “This boy’s Mistress has not yet honored him with a name, Ma’am.”

       Amused by my reprimand, Mistress Sonya continued, lifting my chin upwards with the tip of Her cane.  “Yes, i see that you do have lovely blue eyes ... your nickname is most appropriate; perhaps your Owner will decides that it suits Her.”

       Lowering Her cane between my legs, Mistress Sonya swung my scrotal sac back and forth, and then bounced my testicles on the tip of Her cane. Fighting down the reflex to cover myself, i bit down on the inside of my cheek and broke out into a cold sweat. “Very nice, boy, full and low.  Are they natural or has your Owner had you enhanced?”

       “Mistress had my scrotum stretched, Ma’am.”

       “Hmmmm, I thought so.  Still, very nice.”

       Mistress Sonya continued Her perusal, lifting my flaccid penis with the tip of Her cane. “And this, boy, what is this?”

       Out of the corner of my downcast eyes, i noticed that several Female passersby had stopped to watch the exercise, which caused me to blush deeply from head to toe.  Still, i answered swiftly and obediently.  “It is Mistress’s penis, Ma’am.”

       “And did She purchase you already cut, or did She have to have you skinned, blue eyes?”

       “Mistress had to have Her boy circumcised, Ma’am.”

       “Well, We will certainly see that We return it to Her not just properly clipped, but also well trained.”

       Mistress Sonya then ran Her cane gently up and down my left thigh a few times.  “So far, you have done well, blue eyes.  Remain standing while I examine the others.”

       Mistress Sonya then worked Her way down the line, speaking to and examining each in turn.  i learned that the two Andreans were named arpad and biro; the Zutanian had been re-named jules.  As with me, Her examinations were humiliating, but gentle ... since no one offered even the hint of resistance, even when She had jules bend over, spread his butt cheeks with his own fingers, and describe for Her how his Owner would take Her pleasure with his “boy hole.”

To be continued....