The Domme’s formerly farm slave died. She bought a replacement. She has a consistent farm slave training regimen.
First, she binds him aloft in a stall. A blindfold blocks sight. The smell of hay, dirt and animals is a hint. And the absence of city sounds.
A gag prevents unwanted conversation. On her farm men need say only one thing: “Yes, Mistress.”
The first words, the new slave man hears from Mistress Owner is:
“Here is food. I will remove the gag. If you speak, you’ll starve.”
Some men go two or three days before eating. Ignoring her words, they ask for explanations.
Speech protocol established he remains ungagged. Two days later, she moves him to the pig sty.
For twenty-four hours, he lives in mud with pigs. To her he is only an animal. He must remember his inferior status. If he does not, she can move him back to the sty. The humiliation and potential recurrence tames men.
Next, she chains him to a post. He spends two or three days as a human dog. She hoses him down once each evening.
Filthy, unshaven, the new slave weeps when admitted to the house.
She orders him to shave. Everything. His head, crotch, eyebrows. Sight of himself in the mirror is a shock. He looks subhuman.
He kneels at Mistress Owner’s feet. She needs barely thirty minutes to explain his new life. He will work, remain silent and obey all commands. Once daily she will whip him.
She punishes deviation with starvation and daylong whippings. Serious malfeasance earns mutilation. Sane fear of her will rule his actions.
Immediately, she ordered him to sweep and mop the floor.
Aside from house cleaning and cooking, he will tend the farm animals and maintain the grounds. He will sleep between sixteen-hour work periods. She will teach him to make his own slave slop.
It is summer. He is lucky. He will work naked. During winter, he will wear a jacket. It has a heavy scratchy, irritating lining. Movement is torment.
Professional Femdom slavers are an idiosyncratic bunch. They enjoy kidnapping men. Have fun training them for lives of slavery. And with gleeful greed, profit from turning free men into property.
Each Mistress Slaver has her own theory of male enslavement. Partners, who are often lovers, share the same ideas about masculine psychology. They work together, manipulating the newly abducted men.
Some slavers’ methods are unusual. Women take pride in strange techniques of male ego ruination and emasculation. Or how they ingrain extreme fear of disobedience, creating slave men, who are flesh robots.
This slaver sells only vigorous men. They are strong, muscular. Agile and fleet. Men who often compete in the arduous, often agonizing competitive games, their Mistress Owners enjoy. In a sense, these men train like horses. But no one would force a horse to endure so much suffering, shed so many tears.
These men race. Lift weights, Wrestle and box.
During physical exertion, the slaver whips the men.
You see a man doing shoulder presses while his trainer shocks his genitals. Mishandling the weights could easily damage him for life. The trainer never forgives failure. Despising malekind, no man’s suffering inspires pity or mercy.
You see a man chinning with a weight attached to his ankles. Mistress Slaver whips his genitals. He dares not fail. She knows the most terrible torments. Punishment is grim, frightening.
Not every male survives her training regimen.
Their loss is mitigated by the lavish sums Mistress Owners pay for the survivors.
Kidnapping and selling men began as a hobby. They found working as professional Femdomonomic slavers supplied money for an ample lifestyle. Enslaving innocent men gave them the most acute pleasure.
Leaving their dull, unsatisfying jobs, the two women plunged into adventurous and happy careers as abductors and trainers of men.
A Domme hired them to grab and break in a human horse. She wanted them only to erase the man’s will. Get him used to the stress of carrying women on his shoulders. (Horse slavery peaks in spring. Most human horse races take place during summer.)
Human horse training gave them the keenest delight. Their swift, effectiveness delighted their customer. Recommending the pair to fellow horsewomen, the slavers gained many permanent clients. During spring, they train men for slavery as two-legged race horses and carriage pullers.
Their methods work well on all men. Some women are too busy to train their slaves. For these Dommes, they orient formerly free males for lives of service. Indoctrinate them in protocols. Force a man to adapt his behavior to his new Mistress Owner’s wishes. They deliver him ready to begin his new life as chattels.
Like many slavers, they begin with starvation and isolation. Lonely and hungry, force coöperation. Typically, men threaten, beg, pretend their situation is a prank. Finally, they face reality. Strange women have taken possession of them. They are slaves.
The slavers ride on men’s shoulders. Men run from wall to wall in an auditorium (the women own a defunct school building). And outdoors, in the area once used for football games.
The men tire. When a man sinks to the floor, Mistress Trainer whips him. Beats him until he rises and continues running.
They race men until exhaustion. Mistress Trainers force the men to crawl. At the end, trainee slaves wriggle their bodies forward like worms. Filthy, weeping, pride crushed, male resistance evaporates. The men are desperate to please.
Misery, exhaustion, pain, defeat resistance. Defiance dies. Accepting their new status as property, completing their training is comparatively easy.
Once sold and delivered, the slavers instantly forget a man. They already anticipate the whimpers and moans of the next male.
Both of June’s parents worked long hours. She and her brother Julius lived without adult supervision.
Julius tormented his sister. His endless pranks and cruel tricks often left her in tears. Her parents admonished their son to treat June with kindness. Julius ignored them.
In desperation June asked to go to a private school. Parental careers brought the family affluence if not happiness. Her mother and father wanted the best for her. They sent her to an excellent private school.
Pleased with the idea, they sent Julius to a boy’s academy. He refused to go. His parents gave him no choice. June laughed. It was a small measure of payback.
June selected a school whose propaganda stressed female empowerment, womanly authority. The school lived up to its brochure.
How the young women held themselves, impressed her. They all radiated pride. She had never seen so much assurance. She felt these women could conquer the world if they chose to.
Her roommate Augusta overawed her. June flinched when the shook hands. Augusta apologized. She told June to strengthen her grip. Here women cultivated traits conveying female strength. No man could doubt he faced an equal if not superior.
Augusta was an excellent mentor. June blossomed. She never slouched. Learned to look people straight in the eye.
At Christmas vacation, her firm handshake startled her father. He expected a hug. Julius tried to embarrass her. She slapped him. He started to hit her. Her look intimated him. Julius kept away from his sister.
Back at school, she told Augusta about her brother. At the latter’s advice, she took self-defense classes.
June studied hard. Augusta helped her choose classes. She studied matriarchal political and social philosophy.
She attended a seminar devoted to Venus in Furs. (The eBook edition translated and illustrated by Sardax.)
The novel shaped her dreams. She spent nights in imaginary dungeons tormenting men. They were slaves, her property.
She told Augusta and confessed her confusion. Her friend told she had the same dreams. They started when she was a little girl.
June felt perverted. Augusta told her, she was evolving into her true self.
The women visited the art center to see a new exhibition. Pictures by Sardax, Eric Stanton and Nanshank seemed to have been taken from her dreams. All the art aroused her. She hid in a bathroom stall. Masturbation calmed her.
Later, Augusta took June to a special section of the library. Every book dealt with female domination. Prose, poetry and Femdom artwork.
June could never decide if it were libido or reason that led her to Femdom. Both, most likely. It did not matter. Hurting, manipulating, controlling men was a personal necessity. Male laws are irrelevant.
Augusta had waited for this moment. She introduced June to the invisible Femdomonomic underground.
They went to a Femdom party. Unlike public fetish parties, all the men were slaves. Brought by Mistress Owners for communal sadistic play.
A novice Domme, June was welcomed by all. She spent time with many men. Her arms grew tired from whipping and slapping men. Weary limbs were a fair trade for pleasure.
June had lacked a goal. She struggled to discover a career that would be fulfilling. Working for a male was unthinkable. She could not think of man as her equal much less her superior.
Her parents died. Her inheritance was enough for her to live without working. June would need to be frugal. But that could not satisfy her ambitious nature.
Augusta invited June to visit her aunt. Aunt Maybelle was a slaver. She seduced, kidnapped, trained and sold men. She worked for herself. Her home, car and clothes suggested she had a healthy income.
June asked Maybelle about working as a slaver. The latter shared many hilarious stories. June expressed her envy. Maybelle offered her an apprenticeship.
June’s beauty and persona made seduction effortless. She had a knack for abduction. Watching men learn their fate was the best part of the day. She crushed egos with zest.
Using part of her inheritance, she bought a large home. Special contractors outfitted her basement. They installed cages, benches and other implements of the slaver’s trade. Two bondage gear stores had their best week of the year.
June’s reputation grew swiftly. She could barely keep up with demand. The rest of her inheritance went untouched. Selling men allowed her a life of luxury (when she allowed herself time to enjoy it).
One day Julius called. He begged to see her. June had not missed her brother. She almost refused. Curious, she invited him to come over.
Worn and ragged, he looked awful. Julius wasted his entire inheritance. He asked June to lend him money. She refused. He begged. Then threatened. Her brother was a selfish and obnoxious as she remembered.
June told her brother to get a job. He said no one would hire him. Thrown out of several schools, he never earned a degree. And the rags he wore were the only clothing he owned.
She almost softened. Only because she thought of her parents. She knew her brother would waste money she gave him. And return for more.
Her brother was worse than the average man. He could never take care of himself. He would be better off if he were a woman’s slave. He needed womanly authority.
That was it. She would enslave her brother. Not that he would live with her. She never kept slaves and certainly did not want Julius.
June promised to get him work. No training required. He would even be supplied with new clothes.
He thanked his sister. She wanted to laugh. Laughter would come later.
She made coffee, drugged his cup.
After he passed out, she stripped off his clothes. Julius awoke in a chair. He wore women’s lingerie, a wig and makeup. Arms chained behind his back. His genitals leashed. June held the leash.
He jumped from the chair. June yanked the leash. Pain dropped him to the floor.
June held a mirror.
“How do you like your new clothes?”
He threatened. Moving to attack her, she yanked the chain again. She kicked him.
Julius yelled, screamed. His sister ignored him.
He realized his helplessness.
He stood and stared at June.
She started laughing. She could not stop. Hearing a car door, slam, she quietened.
She said, “Your new employer. Your owner. You are her slave.”
Julius asked, “Why?”
“Because you are a man. You are a bully. You are worthless.”
Going to the door, she let her customer in.
“He is all yours. You will need to whip him hard and often. He needs his ego crushed.”
Julius turned pale. His sister told a woman to torture him.
“You wanted a new sissy. He is yours, free of charge.”
The two women chatted. Paralyzed by shock, Julius listened to the two women talk about his coming degradation and pain. They made it all sound ordinary. They terrified him.
An hour later, June helped transfer Julius to her client’s car.
Later she received pictures of his body after a heavy, brutal whipping. Then of him on his knees, servicing men at a Leathermen’s party.
George was not handsome. His looks were average. His income was adequate for a single man with few wants. He was not clever.
His problem: he did not know how to talk to women. Shyness kept him lonely. The inhibition was his downfall.
Sherri picked him up at Home Depot. She asked for his advice. An excellent amateur plumber and carpenter, he could talk comfortably about home repair and refurbishing.
Saying she wanted to pick his brain, they went to Starbucks for coffee. Sherri knew how to make a man relax. It thrilled George to talk to a good-looking woman. That the topic was storm windows did not diminish his delight.
George agreed to look at her home. They made an appointment.
Saturday noonish, George rang the doorbell.
Sherri offered him a mug of coffee. He did not taste the Clonazepam. She crumbled a fraction of a pill. The Benzodiazepines quickly took effect.
George did not flinch when she ran her fingers through his hair. Then between his legs. She grabbed his belt. Sherri led him to her bedroom.
It was the third time George had sex with a woman without paying for it.
Typically masculine, the orgasm turned him into her slave.
He returned the next weekend. George fixed broken things, improved those that worked. His free hard labor was an excellent sign.
Post-coital conversations confirmed her suspicions. He had no friends. His parent died years past. His relatives, strangers.
One Saturday afternoon George had his last orgasm. Sherri laced a cup of coffee with a strong tranquilizer.
George passed out.
He woke locked in a bondage device. Sherri smiled when his eyes opened.
“Sherri, what is this?”
“It is a stock. Or is that a pillory. I never can remember the difference. Do you know?”
“I don’t care. Let me out of this thing.”
“What kind of game is this? What are you up to?”
“Game? It’s a bondage game. I’m about to whip you with my cane.”
“Let me out. Now. Goddammit!”
“You cussed. I’ll have to spank you for that as well.”
“You better let me out.”
“Uh …. Sherri, stop this. Let me out.”
Her reply was a swift hard swat of the cane.
“I like that, keep yelling.”
Unwilling, he obeyed. A long succession of hard stroked cut deep marks along his butt and thighs.
“What a baby, can’t take it huh?”
“That finishes your first spanking.”
“Now will you let me out?”
“Are you crazy?”
“No. But you are a slave.”
“You must be nuts.”
“Once I beat some sense into you, I’ll sell you. That is my business. Selling dopes like you into slavery.”
“Did you really think I wanted to have sex with you? You aren’t sexy. You don’t have a clue about making love.”
George wanted to scream that Sherri lied.
But he knew better.
Sex. Affection. They were weapons. She made a fool of him.
His heart ached more than his body.
Broken, he would easily become a groveling servitor. Desperate to please his Mistress Owner.