"Master Darren?" came an uncertain voice behind me. "I was supposed to see you next."
With a knowing smile, I turned around and took in the sight of the voice's author. Standing in the doorway to my room was a young woman, of slightly below average height, who blushed visibly. Her hair, which was halfway between brown and black, hung exactly as low as her cheeks, giving her wide face a dynamic accent. In an effeminate, looping knot, a teal bow held her hair in a short side-ponytail. Her green eyes stared shyly at me from beneath a wispy pair of eyebrows, and her coquettishly pouty lips quivered. Around her short, thin neck was a rubber collar with a D-ring on the front, and she was stripped down to nothing but a pink see-through dress, plus a chastity belt. A vibrator control box hung on a strap on her right thigh, connected to a wire that led inside of her.
My smile deepened; this was my next customer.
I am Master Darren, a worker at the biggest dominator brothel in this city. Months ago, I was kidnapped from my home in an archipelago somewhere and brought here to be a sex slave to a sergeant of the conquering army. After owning me for a month, she sold me to this brothel. I may technically still be a slave, but women are now the ones who obey on my leash.
I now live in the Snefolk republic, where brothels are different. Women are dominant here by default, and their men are their slaves. A woman who cannot afford a slave can rent one; there is no need for male prostitutes. What there is a need for, however, is dominant men. Even here, there are women who feel the need to submit to masculine authority. For them, there are establishments like this one- an island of male domination in a sea of matriarchy. For women like the one before me, it was an enclosed paradise.
When my next customer saw what was behind me, she let out a delicate gasp. Smirking, I looked over my shoulder at my last hour's handiwork.
A woman hung from the ceiling, suspended by four ropes. Two ropes wrapped around her wrists, holding them over her head, and two looped around her knees, holding them up and apart. Her thick, jet-black hair was dyed red at the ends and was held in a wide ponytail by a red hair tie. In contrast to her hair, her skin was exceptionally pale, contrasting sky-blue eyes that stared out from beneath short but well-defined eyelashes. Her eyes were begging me.
Whether she was begging to be dominated more or to be set free was unclear; the session she had paid for had technically ended seven minutes ago. As submissive, however, her freedom was mine to give or take as I wished, and I had chosen to keep her for a little while longer.
Depriving her of her ability to speak was a small, cream-tinted pink ball gag with a strap that matched the red accents of her hair. On her chest, I had scrawled the words 'submissive slut' in black ink marker, indicating her status to anyone who saw her. Her breasts, which were loosely chained together by the nipples, heaved in and out as a motorized dildo machine very slowly pushed into her, then pulled back out.
"Alright," I began, turning off the machine. "I've decided you've had enough."
Now her eyes were definitely begging for more.
Pulling the dildo from her, I inserted my two longest fingers and stroked, very quickly but very gently. Like clockwork, she began to moan again. She kicked her head back and tried in vain to thrust herself farther onto my fingers as I pushed her to a second precious orgasm. As her nasally, helpless moaning died down again, I unstrapped the ball gag and forcibly pulled her into a kiss. With a wave of satisfaction, I noticed her reciprocating me for a few seconds before I pulled out of her mouth.
With that final assertion, I untied her legs, then her wrists, then guided her by the D-ring of her collar out the door before closing it behind her.
"Now," I said to the new customer, unlatching her chastity belt and yanking out her vibrator. "I'll give this back if you're a good girl. Understand?"
"Y-yes sir," stuttered the girl.
It was good to be a dominator- or, as we called ourselves, a dom. When I first arrived, I had recycled my warrior's aggression as theme for my domination, dressing in a loincloth and cracking my whip like a weapon until women cowered before me. Now, I had remade myself. No longer was I a brute who conquered by force. Now, I was like a spider. I was an omnipresent, leather-clad shadow who used devices to rob women of one faculty after another until, eventually, they could only stare back at me and wonder what I would see fit to do to them next.
Then, one day, my world changed again.
It was late morning, and one of the other doms sat down with me and helped me read a book, honing my skills in Snefolk scripture. It had not been long since I began my education, but, for lack of anything else to do during the brothel's off hours, I had learned an impressive amount.
"Yes, ma'am?" said the voice of the receptionist, the only man in the building who ever answered to women.
Looking up, I saw him taking a call.
"Sergeant?" the receptionist retried. "Yes, ma'am, we have him... Exactly 125 marks, ma'am, plus normal fees. What? Hold on, I need to check this with the records."
The receptionist's eyebrows rose. Only when I noticed this did I realize that I had not been reading. I refocused on the page. Inevitably, however, I could not keep focused. Nothing stimulated my razor-sharp listening instincts faster than the alluring puzzle that is half of a conversation.
"Why yes, ma'am, your name is right here. And the date checks out, too. Alright ma'am. Just come by whenever is most convenient for you... excellent. Goodbye."
The word 'sergeant' should have told me all that I needed to know, but, incredibly, my erstwhile mistress never came to mind; my whole time as a submissive had become a blur for me.
Soon, the doorbell rang, and, a few seconds later, a woman emerged from the airlock doors.
Glancing at her, I marveled at her toned musculature, which was a rarity among our customers. Her extensive clothes also caught my eye; she seemed to be in no position to disrobe. Had I recognized her Snefolkan combat boots, I would have put it all together on the spot. As it was, I and the other doms stared with fascination at what we assumed to be our next customer. Each of us silently hoped that he would be the one to dominate this anomalous specimen.
However, when the assistant, Vladimir, approached to collar her, the receptionist motioned him away. Instead, he handed the woman a leash, which she took in her hand. Walking up to me, she reached out with the leash.
"Hey," I protested, batting her arm away, "don't you dare leash me."
As her response, the woman slapped me across the cheek with the back of her hand.
"Aah!" I growled, clutching the place of impact. "Why you little-"
Before I could finish, I felt a gloved palm on the base of my neck, pushing me off balance. Flat on my back on the soft padded floor, I looked up. The woman knelt on my chest, and, before I knew it, I was on a leash.
I was on a leash. This had not happened since before I became a dom. Before I could register this disgrace, however, I heard something even more shocking.
"Snap out of it, Silk. It's me."
My face slackened.
"M-mistress?"
"That's right," she said, matter-of-factly hoisting me back onto my feet. "You're coming home."
"No..." I breathed.
Ignoring me, Mistress pulled me towards the doors. Stumbling behind her, I glanced imploringly at the other doms, seeing looks ranging from bafflement to sympathy. With a sinking heart, I realized that there was nothing any of them could do.
All the way back to Mistress' house, I was numb. I had no idea what lay in my immediate future. Mistress was not as talkative as she had been before, asking her anything was out of the question and I was not even sure that we were going back to her house at all.
The unfamiliar feeling of cold slowly penetrated deeper and deeper into me as the walk dragged on, until, at last, we reached our destination. It was Mistress' house. I was back here again.
Without a word, Mistress quickly stripped me, then hauled me into my old slave room, which looked like no one had set foot in it since my departure. In the middle of this room, Mistress locked my feet into a pair of shackles fixed to the floor. Imperiously, she strode over to the side of the room and stood next to a full-length mirror, where I saw my reflection, nude but defiant.
With a sudden horror, I realized that my introduction to slavery was repeating itself. Replacing my sudden grimace with a look of steely determination, I decided to see how much trouble I could make for Mistress before I submitted to her again.
"Now, Silk," Mistress began, in the most intimidating growl I had ever heard from her. "You probably think your life still hasn't changed. Well, there has been a mix-up. Actually, there have been two. Now, how do you address me?"
It occurred to me to start out by calling her 'Joan,' or perhaps even 'bitch,' but my dom days had taught me to start slowly.
"Sergeant," I answered.
Mistress scrutinized me, trying to tell if I my incorrectness was deliberate.
"Wrong," she simply answered.
I felt the sting of her whip.
"To you, I am Mistress. Understand, boy?"
"Yes, Mistress," I conceded, deciding to be prudent.
Mistress' face relaxed slightly, as though she thought she had already won. I did not put it past her to put on such a front to inflate my confidence temporarily, however. She had played such mind games before.
Mistress turned and began to leave, then stopped and looked back to me. Hesitating, she gave a little smile and grabbed my penis. Helplessly, I watched as I stiffened under her caress. Mistress tried to make eye contact with me, but I would not let her see that she had already taken control.
With a grin, Mistress unlocked my feet and led me by the leash out of the slave room and into hers. When she laid me down on her bed, I decided that I had a good opportunity for another act of defiance: I sat up.
Mistress turned to me and calmly ordered, "Lie back."
"Not now, Mistress," I refused.
Mistress turned to me and stared me down with eyes like lasers.
"Do you understand what you are getting into, disobeying a command, slave?"
"No, Mistress," I truthfully answered. "And I am not the kind of man to let this happen without a fight."
Mistress grabbed my wrist and forcibly shackled it to the bed frame, rolling her eyes as she did.
"Firstly, Silk, you are not any kind of man," she explained. "You are a boy. As long as a woman owns you, you will always be a boy. Secondly, this is not a fight."
She drew a flogger.
"Only one of us is going to get hurt."
Once she finished binding my limbs to the bed, Mistress quickly disrobed and crawled onto me. Reaching down, she fondled my manhood. I cringed, trying not to show my arousal as fireworks went off in my brain.
"You like that, don't you?" Mistress observed, in a tauntingly airy voice. "You haven't felt pleasure like this since you last served me, have you?"
"I..." I stuttered. "I bet that bitch still has 'slut' written on her tits!"
Before I could look up, nine metal tips traced lines of pain across my skin.
"Snap out of it, slave," Mistress growled. "You were never free. You were still serving women; at their behest, on their terms and under their control."
As she spoke, Mistress pinched my nipples, digging her nails into the soft flesh.
