For the last few weeks, real life has gotten in the way of my fiction. To keep you going, here’s the opening to a novel I have on the backburner.
It’s 1924. I’m naked on Main Street... naked except for an Art Deco steel collar I can’t remove and a stainless steel mesh covering my crotch like an evil G-string.
And, oh my God I’m a slave.
A real slave.
My penis tries to erect itself, but can’t.
Because --- better still --- I am a slave sealed in permanent chastity.
I’d almost forgotten about that.
I glance down to look where my genitals should be wobbling comically in the cool air.
Instead, there’s just this surgical mesh implanted in my groin. It’s all there behind the steel --- my balls tucked into their abdominal cavities, my twitching cock clamped in the down position.
I’ve had weeks to get used to the mesh, to peeing sitting down, to the way not having external testicles changes the way I walk and kneel. However, that was mostly in the Slave Factory, where they kept us too busy, tired and --- frankly --- terrified to be horny. Now I’m out in the real world and I’m a slave and I’m turned on and it matters because I will never ever be able to masturbate and this is the sexiest thing that’s every happened to me.
Because my transdimensional kidnappers --- really, they duplicated me, but that’s another story --- have lived up to their promise.
The triangle of steel mesh has a little hoop just above the root of my penis. Clipped to the hoop is a leather leash. The other end is in the manicured hand of an infeasibly hot blond flapper called Gabriel.
She actually owns me.
Half an hour ago, this complete stranger strutted into the Slave Shop, browsed the “Untrained” section, picked me out, handed over a wad of dollars, and walked out with me on a leash clipped to my mesh-neutered groin.
Now I’m padding along barefoot on the sidewalk, and it sinks in that this isn’t just some crazy Femdom community tucked away in an alternate Earth. This is an entire civilisation entirely dominated by women, not just dominated, owned.
I know this because pretty obviously I’m walking through what’s equally obviously a major world city and it’s somewhere between Jazz Era Manhattan and Fritz Lang’s Metropolis: towering skyscrapers shaped in Art Deco curves and sheathed in ribs and stripes.
A noise makes me glance up.
A rocketship rumbles overhead leaving a fluffy contrail. The craft is like the one that “abducted” me, all steel and rivets with stubby wings with a domed nacelle.
Cars that could have come out of an old movie rattle by, all driven by women. On the sidewalk, more women, elegant ladies in hats and gloves, stroll past and don’t give the naked man a second glance.
They glance at Gabriel though.
Miss Gabriel is really is hot.
It’s not just that I haven’t had an orgasm in months - not since before they abducted me - it’s that she’s one of those girls who oozes sex. In the slave shop she was all dimples and twinkling wide blue eyes. Now her hips twitch as she clip-clops along in high-heeled pumps, making her navy blue dress swish around her knees. The seams of her stockings draw attention to the luxurious inverted bowling-pin curve of her perfect legs.
And she’s supposed to be my new owner. My first owner.
Now I spot a fellow man - a fellow slave, because here that's the same thing --- laden with parcels and scurrying along behind a woman in a fur coat. He’s dressed like a bellhop, but I catch a flash of steel from his throat; like me, he must have a seamless collar fixed permanently around his neck.
Miss Gabriel glances at her watch. “Damn!” and stops so abruptly I almost run into her.
“Sorry...” I begin.
Her hand whips out, catches my cheek. “Clumsy.”
Pain explodes across my face, somehow goes to my mesh-neutered groin, making my lost cock spasm.
I put my hand to the bruise.
I’ve been whipped and beaten before, but that was in the slave factory. This feels different. Unreal. Scary. Hot.
I glance at Miss Gabriel. She’s hopping on her patent leathered toes and waving. “Taxi! Taxi!”
A boxy vehicle with a yellow chassis pulls up. The driver - an buxom older woman in a peaked cap that doesn’t suit her round face - leaps out and opens the rear door.
“In there,” points Miss Gabriel.
There’s a literal cage installed next to the driver’s seat, accessed from the passenger compartment.
I cram myself in backwards and kneel there hunched over in a foetal position.
“Where to, Miss?” asks the cabby.
Miss Gabriel takes her seat ---
--- I catch a flash of pale thigh under her hem. They really do wear stockings! My captive cock gives a forlorn twitch ---
“200, 72nd street, please.” Miss Gabriel leans forward without a glance and slides the cage door shut.
The cabby sucks through her teeth. “Do you have the dough for this?”
“Of course I do,” says Miss Gabriel, all offended sweetness. “I just bought a slave, didn’t I?”
“Perhaps you blew it all.”
Miss Gabriel rummages in her handbag and flashes a wad of notes.
The cabby grunts. Gears clunk and I’m thrown face first into the cage door.
I settle back and stare at Gabriel’s legs.
Her dress is short enough that, now she’s sitting, it exposes her knees. They’re pressed neatly together so that the curves of her calves touch.
“Say,” says the cabby, “is it true what they say about slaves?”
Miss Gabriel crosses her left leg over the other. She giggles. “Why, I don’t know what you mean.”
I can’t see her expression, so I stare at her raised foot.
“I thought about buying one,” says the cabby. “All the perks of a live-in girlfriend, none of the endless complaining.”
My penis twitches in its cage and I realise she said “girlfriend”? But that could just mean roommate. My head whirls and I stare at Gabriel’s shoes; anything to anchor me.
The two women are still chatting.
“This one needs training first,” says Miss Gabriel.
Meanwhile the two women keep up their chatter. Somehow Gabriel has charmed the cabby into thawing. I don’t think she wants anything, it just seems like what she does along with breathing.
“Say,” says the cabby, “if you’re having second thoughts, I could take that one off your hands.”
I start and bump my head on the roof of my cage. I hold my breath. Being the slave of a hot young flapper is... an intriguing prospect, but being sold off to a stocky middle-aged woman seems horrifying.
Not that I would have any choice in the matter.
Perhaps if I’m a very good slave she’ll keep me. I stare even harder at Gabriel’s shoes. They could certainly do with a polish. The toes are scuffed---
“Oh no,” says Gabriel. “This one really does need to be trained and certified first.”
Oh My God!
From where I kneel at her feet, I can now see right up her outer thigh, over the stocking top to where a thick garter strap stretches over creamy white skin.
My penis inflates against its prison. I want to tear back the door of my cage and run my hand over those inviting curves... part her thighs and get in between them with my dick.
Only, thanks to the mesh rooted in my groin, I’m not ever going to have sex again. Or masturbate.
I chew my lip, fighting not to whimper.
“How long will that take?” asks the cabby.
“Six months, no more,” says Miss Gabriel, “so I can make my money back.”
The cab pulls up.
“Give me your number,” says the cabby. “I’ll phone you round about then. Beats shopping around, and you seem kind of ladlylike, so I’m sure your slave will be well trained.”
“Peachy,” says Miss Gabriel. She hands the driver a card with the money. Then she slides open my cage door and yanks the chain.
The cold steel links press against my bare belly and chest, but I don’t feel anything in my groin, just a weird tug on my pelvis, where the cage is rooted.
I bump my head again, struggle out of the cab, and suddenly we’re on the out on the street in a shabby neighbourhood with boxy apartment blocks of bare red brick and shop fronts with fading signs and dirty windows.
Miss Gabriel leads me towards a doorway.
A middle-aged woman leans out a ground floor window. “Miss Gabriel!”
Miss Gabriel turns. “Mrs Brown. How are you today?”
“I’ll be better once you’ve paid your rent.”
“Why,” says Miss Gabriel, putting a hand to her sternum as if to say, Who, me? She dimples sweetly. “it’s Miss Lucette’s name on the lease.”
Mrs Brown merely scowls. “Well you tell her rent is three days overdue.”
The window closes just as a two-seater roadster roars up and squeals to a halt.
The woman at the wheel has a loud zizag coat --- very avant garde --- and a matching beret.
In the passenger seat is a blond girl with a round face that’s all dimples and big bright eyes. She leans over and kisses the driver.
The kiss becomes a snog... mouths open, cheeks bulging from the hidden movement of tongues.
Lesbians!
My penis rears against its permanent mesh, hardens until it prickles.
Miss Gabriel and I both watch while the women neck for a good five minutes, while vans and other cars trundle past, all driven by women, and yet more women come and go on the sidewalk noticing neither the naked man nor the kissing lesbians.
Finally, the passenger disentangles herself, slips out the side door and waves her belle off.
As the car roars away, she turns towards us. Wavy blond hair frames a flushed face with bright twinkling eyes.
The street is quiet no, except for the hum of traffic and the song of birds. Somewhere in the building, a pianist strikes up. Honky-tonk jazz drifts down to us.
Miss Gabriel puts her hands on her hips. “Miss Tallulah Darrow, that had better be a serious girlfriend.”
Miss Tallulah giggles. “I’m working on it.” She raises one foot and does jazz hands, dancing a few steps of what’s awfully like a Charleston in time to piano playing from upstairs.
“She’s very rich.” She stops dancing. “Which reminds me, Mrs Brown wants her rent.”
“Really? Oh, we’ll manage like we always do...” says Miss Gabriel. “A couple more days.”
Miss Tallulah’s gaze falls on me. Her voluptuous red lips purse. “And what is that?”
I cringe and try to shrink into myself.
“What’s what..?” asks Miss Gabriel, drawing her friend’s fierce gaze. “Oh that. It’s a slave.”
“I guessed that,” says Miss Tallulah. “The lack of a bosom was a give away. Plus the collar and steel bush.” Now it’s her turn to put her hands on her hips. Judging from the way her coat hangs, they’re full and round. However, she has dancers legs, like upturned bowling pins. “But what are you doing with it?”
“Training it,” says Gabriel. “Six months and at least one hundred percent profit.”
“You blew your savings on that?”
“It’ll be useful round the apartment,” says Gabriel. “What with your dancing and my waitressing, it’ll make life easier. And the sale will cover a year’s rent.”
“But it still needs to eat.”
“Eating is one of the perks.”
Tallulah’s eyes widen. They flicker to me and I catch an appraising look. “Oh.”
“One hundred percent profit,” says Gabriel.
“We need to talk about this properly.”
“Sure, peaches,” says Gabriel. “But I’m late for work. So would you mind watching it until can come home and do the induction”. She holds out the leash. “Slave, this is Miss Tallulah Darrow. Address her as Ma’am. Obey her the way you would obey me.”
“Yes, mistress,” I say.
Tallulah holds out a slender hand, then hesitates. “What am I going to do with it?”
“Whatever you want,” says Gabriel. She winks.
“Oh,” says Tallulah. She flushes behind her makeup as she takes the leash. “OK.”
NOW THIS....IS BRILLIANT!
An alternate reality of femdom supremacy where they've managed rockets earlier?! It'll be a best seller!
I did notice a couple typos reading through, I'm sure you would have found them without my help, one is an extra "is" and one is a "no" which should be "now"
What a great start.