Femtech Industries

"Nonsense, keep at it. You're a natural mechanic, slave. And from what I hear from your supervisor, that's not the only thing you're a natural at."

Luke blushed. As a slave he belonged to Femtech rather than any individual woman, but Femtech knew such males had the same emotional needs as any other. His supervisor had four males working under her. They took turns licking her pussy or taking her long, elegant strapon, once or twice a week each. The supervisor made them available to other women, when the slaves had performed well enough. Olivia had coated Luke's face with her juices just the week before. He was talented.

"Now then, Luke, you know why I'm here."

"Yes, miss," he said, then spoke the prepared phrase, "Miss, I am a new slave and need discipline. May I beg you to spank me?"

"Of course, slave. Take off your tool belt and clean your hands, then come over to this bench. Dean, kneel here until I am done."

Olivia took Luke to a bench in the courtyard. She sat down and had the young slave boy drape himself over her lap, so that his caged cock pressed against her bare, shapely thigh. She felt it twitch against her. Luke's supervisor had flagged Luke as obedient, but in need of female discipline. She asked a few women who worked nearby to give him the occasional spanking, in as public a place as they could find.

The courtyard was overlooked by several building, each with wide windows. A dozen women could see them from this position, and more passed through the courtyard every now and then. Olivia massaged Luke's bottom a little, just to get it ready for her assault, then spoke to the quivering boy.

"A hundred swats of my hand, today, slaveboy. Count each one and thank me."

"Yes, miss."

Olivia's hand came down hard. Smack.

"One, thank you miss!" said Luke. His body shivered with the thrill of the discipline. He felt like a hundred eyes were boring into his bare bottom.

"Good boy, keep counting."

Smack, "Two, thank you, miss," smack, "three, thank you, miss."

Olivia hit Luke with real force. She bore the boy no ill will, she simply knew that he needed this to become the best male he could be. Why, Dean took a maintenance spanking of two hundred swats every day, followed by half an hour of corner-time. He would take that or more every day for the rest of his life.

She kept spanking him, slow and steady.

"Twenty, thank you, miss," said Luke. Olivia heard his voice falter. Tears would come soon enough.

By the fiftieth swat, Luke's bottom was bright crimson. He cried freely, still thanking his superior for every time her hand struck his defenseless bottom. Olivia held the force at that level, keeping her rhythm steady. The pause before each stroke let Luke feel her power over him, let his mind anticipate the pain. Each expertly delivered blow from the palm of her hand drove his mind deeper into its slave-state. By sixty swats, his body was perfectly still. Olivia sensed the change; Luke was one with the discipline now.

"Sixty-one, thank you, miss," said Luke, in a new tone of voice. He was honestly and absolutely grateful.

"You break faster each time, slaveboy," said Olivia to the eighteen-year-old male.

"Yes, miss. Sixty two, thank you, miss," he replied.

"It pleases me greatly that you're learning your proper place in a well-ordered world," she said, as the slaveboy continued the count.

When he passed eighty, she sped up the last twenty strokes, just to throw the slave off a little. She wanted to show him that she was completely in control. It worked. Luke found new reserves of submission, holding himself still as the final hits were delivered. When it was finished, Olivia had him kneel on the floor in front of her. She stood, removed her dress, and sat back down again.

"You're a good slave, Luke. You may suck my tits for a couple of minutes as a reward."

"Thank you, miss!" he replied.

Luke took her hungrily in his mouth. He sucked and licked as the last of his tears trickled down his face and onto Olivia's chest. Olivia saw Dean looking on, his face carefully impassive. It was difficult for him to share her with other males, but he was getting used to it. Olivia had given him to other females many times now. Luke continued to savour the closeness and sense of connection he achieved by sucking Olivia's breasts.

She stroked his hair and helped him calm down. Her words of encouragement were mixed with moans of pleasure. She let him suck her for a lot longer than the two minutes she had promised, then finally pushed him away and ordered him back to work. Later in the day, she would post a five-star appraisal to his supervisor. Luke would be allowed to cum on her feet that day, if his other work was up to scratch. Olivia stood and put her dress back on.

"Come, slave Dean, I have some work to do in the office."

"Yes, mistress," he replied, standing and presenting his leash to his owner.

"No, slave, crawl for the rest of the day. Only stand if your orders necessitate it."

"Yes, mistress," he said, kneeling back down, then quickly crawling after Olivia as she strode off towards the office where she worked.

Olivia had her slave lick her to a quickie under the desk, then sent him off to stop distracting her. She had ordered him to learn a creative skill, so he was sketching in charcoal, at an adjustable desk set low to the floor. When he had reached his position, he locked himself by a chain to an eyebolt. His mistress could open the lock by remote control, but he had no way to release himself. He set to sketching a nude self-portrait, in a posture of submission. Olivia particularly favoured these, and they were getting better by the day.

With her property suitably occupied until Olivia needed her next orgasm - around lunchtime - she got to work. Olivia was prototyping a crowd control drone, something that Femtech might be able to use when it launched its bid for control of the world. She concentrated on the plans, trying to optimise manoeuvrability while maintaining enough lift to mount the weapons. The drone, she thought, might carry a sonic cannon or some kind of aerosol to release drugs.

What was troubling her most was targeting algorithms. Her first attempts hadn't been able to reliably sort males from females, so she had enlisted help from specialist programmers. Olivia wondered if they'd gone at it the wrong way, using face and body recognition instead of something like pheromones or behaviour recognition. When finished, the drone would be able to pacify a hundred males at a time, before an autonomous robot came in and collared the prone men.

Olivia hated the idea of pacifying an entire crowd in one go, women included. It wouldn't be right for their new society to hurt its leaders at its moment of birth. She took the designs back to the drawing board, again and again, turning over the possibilities in her mind. Every time she thought she had a solution, more problems presented themselves. No one had ever said freeing the world would be easy.

It was past one in the afternoon when Olivia stood up from her desk for the last time. She remote unlocked Dean and had him crawl to her, then leashed him and had him follow. She took them to a café on a quiet square nearby, run entirely by two slave-brothers, middle-aged Indian men who were owned by the daughter of one of Femtech's founders. She took her usual seat and had Dean kiss her feet beneath the table while she waited for her friend.

Luise sauntered along, late as always, naked as always, followed by her slave Carl, who was now the picture of health. The big, blonder German girl had found Carl's story irresistible. He was a hard-luck case, a homeless boy in need of love and care, and discipline, of course. She had taken him home from the same choosing where Olivia had acquired Dean. Luise had bathed Carl, tended his body and mind, fed him well and fucked him often. Whenever he disobeyed, she caned him or whipped his balls, then had him write out lines so that he understood what he had done wrong.

"No cuffs on Carl today, Luise?" said Olivia as Luise sat down.

"He broke last week, didn't you, darling?"

"Yes, Matron. Thank you, Matron. I love you, Matron," replied the slaveboy, his words fervent.

"Well done," said Olivia, meaning it. "How did it happen?"

Luise had Carl rub her shoulders and launched into the story.

"Well, I was giving him his lunch from my breasts - you know I like to feed him from them - when I noticed a change had come over him. He was suddenly just completely present. Totally at one with me as I fed him. His whole body stilled. I stopped him and asked him what was wrong and he just said, "Nothing, Matron. I belong to you." I could see he really meant it.

"Anyway, later that day I tied him down to the bed and we had sex the old-fashioned way, but with me on top, you know. I let him cum inside me, and it was like a dam burst. He swore his undying love for me, then he begged me to fuck him properly. And I mean really begged-" Carl blushed behind his mistress- "so I took him outside into the courtyard and took him with my strapon, right there. He was so grateful."

"Has he been cleared by the psychologists?" asked Olivia.

"100%. Completely free of patriarchal impulses. Absolutely able to submit to female authority."

"Excellent work, Luise. I see all these males going round in elaborate bondage and undergoing the harshest punishments. Sometimes all it takes is kindness mixed in with the discipline."

"You're correct," replied the German girl, "and that's the direction my research is going in. We can't take the world by force or any future society we build won't last. Men have to want to submit to us, in the end. They have to need to submit. Slavery has to be the obvious, the right option for them, the only way. That should be our goal: engineering some situation where the female right to rule becomes completely undeniable, and benefits everyone."

"But how?"

"Well, I don't know that yet! Give me thirty years and then ask me. So, tell me what you're working on this week..."

Olivia walked Luise through her drone's progress, telling the naked, attentive blonde all the problems that kept coming up. Luise mostly listened, giving her friend the time and space to work it out for herself. Occasionally, Luise would chip in with some finer point of crowd psychology that the engineer Olivia might have missed. Olivia was smart enough to know that Luise wanted to bring her round to the view that real change could only be achieved peacefully. Olivia wished for such a world, but deep down she felt the need to prepare for a war of the sexes.

The girls ate their lunches in the cool shade of a parasol, talking of this and that. Luise was helping research future candidates for Femtech's recruitment drive, while Olivia had volunteered to help males learn massage. Every week a male would try out their new techniques on her naked body; some mastered the craft quickly, while others were almost hopeless. Still, there were worse ways to contribute to society. The older women mostly let these choice jobs go to the younger ones. In ten years when they'd got it out of their system, they could make other contributions.

While their owners ate, Carl and Dean talked between themselves. They had gotten to know one another, comparing their experiences of being kidnapped, sharing details about their lives and how their mistresses treated them. Recently, they had swapped their philosophies of slavery; Dean's well-developed, and Carl's nascent and hesitant. In his spare time, Dean wrote these musings up into something more substantial. Femtech valued such intellectual work; amongst its slaves were many fine thinkers. Dean was happy to find that Carl had settled into his new life. Now that he was broken like Dean, they could really explore together what it meant to be a slave in the service of the superior females.

Olivia fed Dean his lunch as he knelt on the floor. She had him take each mouthful off a fork. He held her gaze as his lips closed over the food, letting his lips and tongue show his desire for more than just a meal. Olivia's heart beat faster at such displays, and her pussy ached with wet lust. The moment she had finished feeding Dean, she snapped her fingers and pointed under the table, between her legs. He dived under her dress, smiling, then gave his owner the worship she deserved.

It didn't take long for Luise to follow suit. Carl had found new reverence for his Matron, his owner, since she had broken him. He poured out his devotion through his tongue, bringing Luise to new heights of pleasure. Her incredible breasts bounced up and down as she rode her slave's tongue. Luise came hard and loud, yelling and screaming with abandon. Women and slaves heard her all across the surrounding streets and courtyards. She was proud of her slave for showing such a generous attitude.

When their orgasms were finished and the meal was done, Olivia and Luise walked arm in arm to the part of the compound where Suki and Rosa, now a gorgeous and powerful couple, worked. Suki had invited all manner of women and their slaves to a demonstration of the harness she had been developing. Naked except for her white lab coat, which hung casually open, she set up a wide arena in the pristine lab, and introduced a test subject petmale. Two dozen women crowded around to see what she had come up with.

"Ladies and slaves, welcome. My partner Rosa and I have been developing a new harness for petmales. This is based on our existing subdermal implants, but uses insights from petmale psychology recently developed by our researchers. The harness is spread across the petmale's whole body. We have used implants to limit movement in some parts of the body, but to free it up in others.

"My own petmale tells me he feels most himself when he moves in a particular way - like the animal that he is, on all-fours. Classically, we have seen keeping petmales on all-fours as a surgical issue. With the right configuration of subdermal tech, petmales can be restricted to crawling at the push of the button. The harness goes beyond this basic level of functioning. By clever use of relaxants in some parts of the body, and muscle stimulation in others, the petmale is supported to move much more like the animal he identifies with. Observe."

Suki pointed a remote control at the standing petmale in the centre of her makeshift arena. He was a short, inelegant petmale named Whisker, who occasionally served as a ponyboy. As a test subject, he was owned by Femtech. The lab technicians and researchers who used him cared for the boy, but he didn't belong to any one of them, or receive any special training.

Suki activated the harness. Whisker's lower legs lost their strength. He sank to the floor as they would no longer bear his full weight. The tutored observers knew what they were looking for. It was hard for a male to spend a long time crawling. Their spines and legs just weren't built for it.

"This harness must be activated in stages. Stage one has already been turned on. The petmale's lower leg muscles are now incapable of bearing his weight, but can drive him forward on the ground. Through selective relaxation and strengthening, they are now configured to give much better purchase on all-fours.

"Stage two now begins." Suki worked the remote control, "In this stage we work with the natural curvature of the spine, but the implants loosen some muscles near the base of the spine, and selectively activate and regulate the muscles in the rest of the torso and back. Here, see now. This is the optimal posture for maintaining a life as a four-legged human."

Olivia had little idea what she was looking at, but she could tell from the way the petmale paced that his posture was much more stable than most of the petmales she saw around. His spine curved in a natural arc from his rump, down then back up, to the male's shoulders. His hips moved freely, letting his tail bob around and swish back and forth. He seemed at ease.

"How does limiting his freedom of movement make him better able to move as a petmale?" asked one of the spectating women.

"With complete freedom of movement, he was able to adopt the wrong posture. What felt right to him in the moment led to strains and twists, to the wrong kind of pressure on his bones. Testing has shown that this posture minimises damage to the back and limbs. Frequent practice with an activated harness of my design appears to build the muscles in new ways, lending support to the stable posture. The harness has cured or alleviated the musculoskeletal problems of five petmales so far.

"We failed these petmales in the past by giving them too much freedom. By helping their bodies take on a well-designed configuration, we help them achieve their life's true purpose - serving us as faithful pets."

"You seem very sure of your results," said the spectator.

"I am quite sure - no one has ever looked at the problem this way before. We must test the harness for a year or more before we even think about rolling it out. But look - Whisker here is happily running around at a pace he could never before achieve. Isn't he marvellous? The harness has put a spring back into his step. Good boy, Whisker."

The petmale woofed in return. He was happy and pain free for the first time in years. The control that Suki had exerted over his body made him feel safe and owned. It was like he was bound to his trainer by the harness, which held him fast and let him move the way he had always imagined he could. He pranced around the arena, lifting his front paws in a merry dance as his tail and caged penis bobbed behind him.

"Please, ladies, examine Whisker and the other test subjects. Give me your feedback and have the petmales perform any physical acts you might like to see them do. Then we can discuss the future of my harness."

The petmale experts among the crowd descended on the test subjects. They ran skilful hands over the males, feeling out muscles and bones and checking their alignment. They had the males run, jump, roll over, sit up and beg, watching carefully for the tell-tale signs of poor posture or bad form. There were practically none to be seen. Despite their years of experience, they were impressed with the newcomer amongst them. Suki had proved her worth; a few of the experts were embarrassed never to have come up with the solution themselves, but they did their best to hide it. Jealousy was a poison they guarded against in their small, closed community.

Olivia congratulated Suki on the display and made her excuses. She had little interest in petmales herself and was only there to support her friend. She led Dean away by his leash, but had him stand rather than crawl for the rest of the day. She didn't like the idea of him straining muscles on all-fours. He was dear to her and she had a duty to protect him from harm - punishments notwithstanding. Even those were fundamentally for his own good.

Olivia made little progress on her own projects for the rest of the day. Her mind was drawn to other things. Images of Suki's petmales rose unbidden in her mind, harsh and strange. Those males were, for the most part, well-loved by their mistresses. Olivia couldn't see how they could really connect in the way she could with Dean. While he was unquestionably her property, they had a deep bond. Late in the afternoon, Olivia abandoned her work, leashed Dean, and took a leisurely stroll with him back towards their quarters.

"Slave Dean?"

"Yes, mistress," answered the male as he walked behind his owner.

"What kind of slave do you want to be for me?"

"I don't know what you mean, mistress."

"Just answer naturally, the first things that come into your head. What kind of slave do you, personally, want to be for me?"

"Devoted to you, mistress. Loved and loving. I love you, mistress. I want to be loved as a slave, and a man."