The Liberation

When the women seized the reins of power, they seized the reins of men's lives as well. It was such a shock to realize that we were now slaves, property owned and controlled by the women --- all of them --- who surrounded and outnumbered us.

For me, the New World Order began with a series of hard blows to the ego. After receiving my Slave Form (a multi-page document detailing the International Code Of Conduct all men were to obey, as well as my Slave Security Number), my wife made it clear that she had been unhappy in our marriage for some time and would not sign the Ownership Papers to make formal her position as my owner.

I was picked up the next morning and thrown into a lock-down with several other "strays", men who shared my misfortune of having no woman interested in owning them, men who would remain like me in this former dog kennel until assigned to a dominatrix.

Me, one of the wealthiest men in the state and possible contender for the governor's office, kept locked in a cage and treated to dog meals!

My personal life in ruins, bereft of my substantial material possessions and political career, I orchestrated a break-out from the kennel and sought to hook up with whatever rebel groups might exist.

There were no rebels fighting the US (Union of Sisters) government, for the women were enjoying their new status as dictators too much to want to overturn things, and their men were unable to try, so pervasive and all-encompassing were the government controls on males.

I found no rebels, only FBI (Federal Bureau Of Interrogation) agents. I was arrested and suffered a grueling and humiliating seventeen-hour questioning which left me with a much-beaten body and no tears left to shed, or so I thought.

FBI Agent

Thrown into an unheated, unlighted cell with such a low ceiling that I could not stand but had to remain kneeling, the cell so narrow that my nose was pressed to the cold stone wall and the soles of my feet pressed against the bars of the cell door, both my arms brushing the walls even as I stayed motionless, I burst into fresh tears and cried for hours. My only hope was that I would be left to starve, to die peacefully.

It was here that my fortuned changed, that I readily and thankfully accepted the Sexual Liberation (as it will be known in the herstory books).

The Liberation was quite liberating, especially in the area of clothing women would wear. A woman must be comfortable and without shame, Liberation theology holds, and this was made quite clear to me as I was hustled off the small plane that had carried me from the FBI penitentiary in my state to a magnificent San Francisco mansion.

I was made to kneel on the gold-traced tiles of the patio, kneel before a woman wearing a body harness which harnessed nothing, black straps of patent leather set with large round studs of silver her only clothing.

The gold "O" of the harness hanging inside her cleavage.

Two straps leading from the "O" circling her neck and down her back, to cross in the middle of her back and follow to the crack of her buttocks until they hooked to another gold "O" centered tantalizingly upon her womanhood.

A single strap running down her tight stomach to hook the two "O" rings together.

Her gloves were of black silk crawling loosely to above her elbows. A thick bracelet of dulled gold encased each wrist.

The boots were patent leather, rigid leather set atop stiletto heels, black leather reaching to beneath her knees. The boots continued on over the knees in red velvet, and dressing both outside ankles was the symbol of New Womanhood (official, "Woman Reborn") designed in electric blue.

I lusted for her, for her breasts, for her womanhood, for her tanned flesh. And I loved her, too, from the moment I first saw her I loved her kind face and gentle authority.

The Commander had a perpetual sorrowful pout on her face which would explode with delight when she was pleased. Her eyes were sultry, inviting, the eyes of a woman to be trusted with absolute power. Her blonde pixie hairstyle she liked to keep wet, giving her an untamed look.

She was lounging in a loveseat, this portrait of power, one booted leg on the floor and the other cast casually over the loveseat's arm. There was not an instrument of torture one might expect to be grasped by a dominatrix in sight, not even a whip or a riding crop. She had no need to corrective physical therapy tools; a man was helpless to do her bidding, so lovely and awe-inspiring was she.

"Stand up," she ordered while she did the same. I tried to hide my own nudity while at the same time ignore hers, failing at both miserably. Her gold-tanned flesh glistened with oil, and as she passed around me, circling me, my nose was treated to a delightfully sedate aroma of perfume, just enough perfume to draw me deeper under her sensual control of the senses.

She stood behind me, silk fingers tracing my balls. My mouth fell open, it was all I could to to keep from throwing my head back and moaning in ecstasy.

"I am Commander Kimber," she said, each finger slowly and singly running across my scrotum. "I am Security Chief of what was the west coast of the United States." She paused a moment to let her important status sink in to my seduced mind. "What was your name?" she asked, emphasizing the word 'was'.

"Edwin Boyd."

"Your Slave Security Number is?"

"Three three seven, four two, one one nine eight."

"You will now be known only as slave, and you will address me always as Commander."

I feared for my life at this point --- or perhaps I feared she would stop her fingerplay --- and so I was quick to be the docile servant. "Yes, Commander."

So began my descent into slavery. I had never read a Female Domination story or book, but I instinctively knew what to expect; whips, chains, corporal discipline, cruelty, degradation, hard and demanding labor. Especially harsh treatment for an escaped 'stray' and would-be rebel such as I.

What I received was light housework duty, recipes for the Commander's favorite dishes, simple secretarial tasks, scintillating conversations with this remarkably intelligent woman, late dinners out, and the dizzying sexual heights only the Commander could lift me to after which I would nuzzle into her arms and fall comfortably asleep.

The only aspects of the relationship which remind me of my status as a member of an inferior species is the Commander's prohibition against my wearing clothes --- even when we go out! --- and the occasional command to test my obedience. A day I am not to speak, a night locked into the bathroom, the order to do laps around the estate grounds until told to stop.

And if I am slow to obey, or if I fail Commander Kimber in some fashion, she wastes no moment in punishing me in most severe manners, though she refrains from any act that would place marks upon me (other than the redness from spankings, slappings, or beatings with a weighted rubber whip). I have seen her "lay the leather" into other males even in public, I have heard the Commander give cruel commands to suppress sparks of rebellion, I know it is for her daily routine to break the spirits of the many prisoners and strays in her charge, so I appreciate more than she can know the merciful benevolence Commander Kimber treats me with.

Mine is a good life, living in a luxurious mansion that dwarfs any government seat I once vied for. I am treated more as servant than slave, paid for my services by the Commander's attentions. Yes, she sometimes provides me with gifts, expensive gifts, but the greatest gift to me is to see her, hear her, smell Commander Kimber nearby. My payment is being allowed, while we watch the JoAnne Carson Show, to rest my hand upon hers, or to bury my face against her flawless thigh, to have her silken hands running up and down my thighs, to feel the cold metal of her body harness press to my body as she grinds down upon me in ecstasy, the lower "O" ring encircling my manhood like a giant cock ring.

Those are my rewards.

Those are the things, the moments, I live for.

How strange it is that I, a man of means and ambition, should settle for such a fate, but Commander Kimber is so gentle with me, kinder than anyone I have ever known, that I will do anything for her.

I love her, and what matter is it who runs the home? I love Commander Kimber because of her superiority, not in spite of it, and by loving her I learn that I do not need to fight every day to survive and to get ahead. I can be happy submitting myself to a woman. Happily, I do so every moment of every day.

But more, she loves me. She soothes me after punishing me. She holds me sometimes when there is no reason to hold me. She loved my spirit at first, my foolishly brave spirit that made me escape the kennels and enabled me to withstand seventeen hours of interrogation, she knew she must have me when she first learned of my escape. But now she loves the rest of who I am, she loves exploring my mind and my soul, all the while shaping me into a model of the New Man. The Commander allowed me my name again, and always does she address me by it in velvet tones. We walk, we laugh, and she has yet to treat with me in an uncaring manner. Even the times that she beats me, she does so out of affection, loving me too much to allow me to become unruly and ill-disciplined.

Commander Kimber holds me to be a slave, yes, and I am ever mindful of that, but I am a valued slave, kept and treated according to my ability to satisfy her pleasures of the body and the mind.

A synthesis between two lovers.

I am no longer wealthy but am surrounded by opulence.

I am no longer owner of anything yet have more material goods available to my use.

I am no longer free but enjoy more liberty than before, now that I do not need to labor for wealth.

I will never be governor, but I am consort to the Commander of the Western North Continent Defense Zone, an area encompassing seven states and territories and two chains of islands.

Let me borrow from the South Continent's herstory books to say, Vive Liberacion !

Legendary true-life Women's Empire, where men are slaves! Must be seen to be believed!!