Future Hannah

A glimpse of CARGO 25 years on

Photo by Kier in Sight Archives on Unsplash

This week in Shona’s Surprising Slave, our hero serviced the slightly odd Hannah, a student of about twenty years old. What’s she going to be like when she’s forty-five?

Part of the fun of the CARGO’verse is imagining how society might change if femdom and male chastity became mainstream. I’ve created a timeline of the first 25 years, so I can keep my stories consistent, and also show characters at different ages.

Shona takes place in the year before the terrifying PM, Aurelia Sharpe, shepherds the Act through parliament. Chastes and Virgos are a growing sexual subculture based around the HrLckr app, but there’s no legal framework. It’s a setting where an innocent can fall down the rabbithole of permanent chastity.

Bradley Jones’s Chastity is set in year 15. Chastes are no more remarkable than gay men, and there’s a whole cohort of “Gen-C” women who’ve come of age taking CARGO for granted. That lets me write stories where permanent chastity is business as usual. There are still rabbitholes, though. Society and politics has shifted somewhat in favour of women, and is pretty casual about safeguards for men. Hence, the new capon identity and the return of the red button in Sarah Makes Her Marriage Chaste.

Fall in Chastity takes place in year 20. Gen-C has come of age. We’re seeing the consequences of some of the marriage legislation — our hero can neither get a divorce, nor sign off on transition back to being a “basic”. RedRunner is in her mid twenties and treats chastes with a role reversal 1970s-style casual sexism. Shona and Hal (“Whatshisname”), now either side of 50, appear as supporting characters and still clearly have a Mistress/Slave relationship. By the final draft, I think we may also see a 50-something Colleen (“NightNurse”), now an Artemis Professor of Chaste Studies at a major university.

By year 25, the UK is still recognisable to us, but the traditional gender roles have flipped. AI has ripped through most of the traditionally masculine jobs. Women, meanwhile, hold most of the senior professional and political roles. They haven’t explicitly legalised male slavery, but there are loopholes in the law that may not be entirely accidental.

How does the awkward but horny Hannah fare in this world? I wrote a the chapter of High Powered Hannah Acquires a Husband to find out…

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High Powered Hannah Acquires a Husband - Chapter 1

25 years after the UK Consenting Adults Relationships, Gender and Orientation Act ("CARGO").

The cab pulls up outside one of those executive homes you only ever see in adverts. There's a scrawny looking middle aged woman standing awkwardly on pavement, her business suit out of place amongst the well tended greenery.

I turn to Chantelle. "What's going on?"

My wife grins and flicks a blonde curl over her ear. "We're getting out here. Get your luggage."

"But the clinic?"

"Come on Leo."

I can't claim to know my wife very well yet --- it was a whirlwind romance --- but I know that tone. It sends a little tingle of fear into my caged cock. I slip out of the car and get my luggage from the back. It would be just like her to plan a stopover with a friend and not tell me. We're off to Mexico the day after tomorrow, minus my chastity cage and tell-tale glass collar. Give me a couple of weeks recovery time, and we'll be having sex.

I dump my suitcase on the pavement.

"Leave mine," says Chantelle, now standing beside me, a vision of bare legs, short skirt and big breasts.

The middle-aged woman with long straight hair approaches, kitten heels making precise clicks on the pavement. She regards me down her nose. "So this is Leo, is it?" She has a low, nasal voice without much intonation. "Not bad. He'll do."

Chantelle giggles. "A bit late to change your mind, Hannah!"

"Well I can always sell him on." The way she says it doesn't sound like banter.

"Wait!" I draw myself up. "What?" I turn to Chantelle. "Who is this woman?"

"Your new wife darling." She pecks me on the cheek. "Make me proud. Now I have a flight to catch. It's been a lovely marriage."

"What? You can't just..."

But she's already slipped back inside the cab. The door slams and she's gone.

I regard the woman --- Hannah --- and can't think of anything to say. She has to be at least forty. Permanent furrows rib her high forehead. The creases of her cheeks form a pronounced arrow with her slightly too-long nose as the tip. There are no laughter lines around her hard eyes, but perhaps that's because she doesn't do much smiling or laughing.

"Look at you, so hangdog!" Hannah says that in her monotone. "Don't worry," she continues, "It's all a joke. Chantelle is just driving round the block. Ha ha very funny."

I glance down the empty road. "Really?"

"I don't know Chantelle, but does she honestly---." Just a little intonation there! "--strike you as the type to make a practical joke?"

My shoulders slump. "No." I fish my phone from my pocket and start to order a cab.

"A cab won't do you any good," says Hannah. "There's no escape from me. You're trapped."

I pause. "I'm sorry --- whoever you are --- my wife just dumped me before our second honeymoon. I'm not in the mood for banter and I need to get to the Artemis Clinic. It's been four years..."

"Ex wife and you need the entire polycule's consent to get the device removed. No fapping or fucking for you, my boy." She says all that with all the animation of somebody reading out a shopping list.

"Polycule? What the hell are you talking about?

"Oh," says Hannah, voice still totally level. "You have no idea. I am Chantelle's ex wife."

"I though you said you didn't know her." I lower my phone and try to imagine the two of them together. Chantelle is all soft curves and radiance. Hannah is stringy and hard. I mean, maybe...

Hannah's eyes narrow. "You're trying to imagine us fucking. Stop it."

I flush.

"I see we're going to have a problem with your imagination." She continues before I can interrupt. "Look it's quite simple. How long were you and Chantelle married?"

"Just over a year." A really wild year, with lots of oral sex and kink and a second honeymoon to look forward to. Imagine actually having sex with Chantelle! With my actual penis, not a prosthetic!

"And she married you?" There's a slight wrinkle of nose.

"I was surprised... But she said she wanted a nice guy and I was prepared to be a subordinate partner."

"And you were horny after three years being a chaste and you thought, if that's the price at least I'll get to shag her next year."

I flush deeper. "Well..."

"And in that year, did she happen to house train you? Turn you into a really good cleaner, personal assistant, and masseur?"

"If you put it that way..."

Hannah's eyes brighten. "And did she get you accustomed to discipline?"

I squirm. Chantelle did seem to enjoy beating me as much as she enjoyed the regular oral sex.

"So," says Hannah. "You signed up to be a subordinate partner, and --- since all men are basically pigs --- you were happy to leave the fidelity box unchecked for additional female partners. The more the merrier, you thought. All the pussy you could eat. Then next year, all the vag you could shag." She shakes her head making her long dyed black hair spread like fingers --- how much spray has she put in it? "That didn't rhyme. Forget I said that."

"I wasn't like... Chantelle said she needed her freedom..."

"So much freedom that she could marry me without your knowledge, let alone consent." Hannah holds up a hand, but when she talks it's still in that deadpan tone of hers. "Don't get excited. She divorced me right away."

"None of this makes any sense!"

"Not very bright," says Hannah. "I can see how you ended up a slave."

"I'm not a slave. It's not even in CARGO!"

"Look it's really very simple. When Chantelle and I..." She actually dimples. "...got hitched, she and you became part of my polycule with both of us as your primaries. Follow so far?"

I nod. It makes a kind of sense. CARGO has all sorts of provision for polyamorous relationships.

"So when Chantelle left our happy throuple --- after I paid her a not inconsiderable sum of money --- she left you --- a subordinate partner --- behind."

I blink at her stupidly.

"Check HrLcker..." She pronounces it hurlurcke --- just nobody pronounces it that way.

I open up the app. These days it's more than a dating app, it's linked to central databases so you can see your marital status. I stare at it.

Apparently, I'm now open-ended with Hannah Clifford, my primary, but I'm a subordinate partner to the entire Guild of Female Executives Polycule --- membership list on request."

"There's a loophole in the law," says Hannah. "As primary, I get all the power, but the Polycule gets all the responsibilities.

"Fuck this, I'm out of here."

"No you are not," says Hannah. "You committed to a traditional marriage and now you are giving up after five minutes. What kind of man are you?"

I just stare at her. Is she insane?

Hannah lets out a bark of laughter. "Only joking. You can't leave because, as your lady wife, I control your bank account. And you can't sign a contract without me. Besides, what would you do? You're a mid level programmer, and AI ate your career so you can't work. And, nobody will date you because we're exclusive."

"I'll get a legal separation, then apply for maintenance."

"You could, but that means serving papers on the ever-expanding Guild of Female Executives Polycule. I'm just your primary. You are married to all several thousand of us."

I finger my glass collar. "What if give you a year of good service, will you sign off on the procedure?"

"Of course," she says. "I'd love to." Another bark of laughter. "Only joking! You have the same problem as with the separation. You'd need to get each member to sign off on removal. Basically, we hacked the marriage law and you are never getting out of your cage thing."

It's too much to take it. I was expecting to be having my first orgasm in by this time next week. I realise I'm weeping.

"Poor thing. I can't bear to see you cry," says Hannah. "No, actually I'm completely indifferent to masculine tears. But go ahead if this makes you feel better."

I sniff. "You're not exactly selling this to me. Maybe I'll do better in a hostel."

"You're thinking I'm not a very sexy wife --- not as sexy as sexy young Chantelle --- but actually I'm too busy for sex stuff. What you're getting is a nice room of your own, and an allowance. You can even have days off. All you have to do is keep the house."

"What about my pride?"

"That from a man in a glass collar with a cage welded to his pierced dicky... sorry what were you saying? Something about pride?"

I nod and take the handle of my suitcase and trundle it up her garden path.

"Kitchen entrance," says Hannah, ushering me around the house. "I wouldn't want my new husband getting above himself." She says it in such a monotone I can't tell if she's joking.

There's a gate between the house and the big garage. "You're wondering whether I'm joking." She ushers me through. "I'm not. No front door for you."

The back of the house and the garage together form a paved half courtyard. The rest of the garden is green lawn all the way to a high wooden fence. Clearly she's making the most of the privacy. There's a wooden sauna shed, a cold plunge and a hot tub. "Very nice," I say.

"You won't get to use any of it." Hannah opens the back door into a messy breakfast room --- cups and bowls strewn on a long table, coats piled on arm chairs. Further in, there's a breakfast bar and then a kitchen. "Your domain." She gestures at a pile of very new looking recipe books. "My personal trainer says I need to start eating proper food. You can cook?"

"Uh, yes."

"Of course you can. It said so in your profile."

"Profile?"

"Of course there was a profile. How else do you think I picked you?"

There's a metal door opposite the end of the breakfast bar. With a little grunt of effort, she slides it open to reveal metal bars with a plaque with the "ManCage™ SAFE SPACE" logo and a CE product safety number. Beyond the bars I can make out the inside of what looks like a rubber-floored wetroom. The bars slide back a more easily. "OK, strip off, in you go."

It's basically a prison cell. My penis hardens so powerfully the bars feel like barbed wire. But just because I'm a submissive doesn't mean I have to give up control. "No."

"What's the matter? It's perfectly safe. It unlocks automatically in the event of a fire."

"No."

Her eyebrows steeple, making her forehead lines deepen. "But you must. Husbands are like cats. You need at least three days in your," she makes air quotes, "...safe space."

"No." I sit on my suitcase. "I've clearly been had and my wife---"

"Ex wife."

"Is a bitch. But you bought a husband, not a slave. So no, I won't go in your cell."

"Oh this is most inconvenient. I have to take a meeting. If you make me phone security, you'll be sorry."

"Whatever." I stand up and make for the kitchen. "I'm making a cup of tea. Do you want one?"

She blinks at me. "You won't go in your safe space but you'll make me a cup of tea?"

"Sure, it's what husbands do."

She nods curtly. "Milk no sugar. Brew it for four minutes exactly. Come and find me upstairs." She scurries deeper into the house.

As I get the kettle on, feet rumble on carpeted stairs. Moments later, a door bangs. Her voice rises in a very resonant, "Hello everybody..."

While the tea brews, I explore.

Unlike the breakfast table, the kitchen area is pristine. Most of the pots and pans look unused. All the pictures are stock images that came with the frame. The only sign of personality is the stack of frozen "international ready meals" in the freezer compartment of the big double-doored American style fridge. There are none of the usual postcards and notes tacked to the outside.

The timer pings. I guess the amount of milk and put Hannah's tea on a tray. She's left her kitten heels on the floor at the foot of the stairs, presumably in deference to the cream carpet. I slip off my own shoes and climb in the direction of her voice.

The whole upstairs is a vision of white and off-white... basically a show home.

Hannah's got the smallest back bedroom set up as an office. She doesn't look around from her rack of screens, each framing somebody in a sharp suit with cool hair --- as is the way of modern business beyond junior management, all those high-powered somebodies are woman. She's talking in her super serious monotone. I understand one in four words. "Quarterly margins... margins... multi-billion.... Investment... Minerva Charter City... Fiscal..."

It's like standing in a gale of pure female power. My penis throbs as if it's going to explode. I deposit the tea and flee downstairs

Off the entrance hall, there's a dining room and a living room, both show-home anonymous down to the white leather sofas. The rear is south-facing and the sun is just starting to swing round, so I go out through the kitchen and sit outside on a wooden deckchair.

Two hours ago, I thought I was heading out on a second honeymoon, with every prospect of finally getting my dick inside Chantelle's vagina... not to mention the strong possibility of a blow job.

Now I'm apparently stuck in chastity and married to a middle aged woman I don't know. How the hell did I get myself in this mess? (Read next Chapter)

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