One of the Lucky Ones

Christine examined herself in the mirror as she pulled her top down.

Everything looked to be in line with regulations; makeup and hair looked immaculate, at least a half inch of her midriff was exposed, and her heels, well, she didn't need to check those, she'd disposed of all shoes that didn't meet government standards long ago; her heels were definitely tall enough. She bent over for a final check; her skirt was short enough that her panties would be showing like this, not that she was ever allowed to wear panties. She hadn't even seen a pair for several months. At this point owning any, no matter how scandalous, was strictly illegal..

Christine made her way downstairs and bit into slice of toast, yawning earnestly. Her workout this morning had been exhaustive. Having to wake up at 4am to hit the gym wasn't ideal, but she didn't really have any other free time, and being in shape was crucial to maintaining her lifestyle. She took another bite and tossed the remainder of her breakfast in the garbage; it was time to head to work.

No matter how many times she did it, Christine had never really gotten used to her walk to the office. She was one of the "lucky" minority of women that were permitted to hold a job and live on their own. There were many many many women who were less fortunate.

She was constantly reminded of this during her commute. It was commonplace to see women being led along the sidewalks on leashes; a few of them walked, most were made to crawl on their hands and knees as animals. There were also plenty of women bound tightly to garbage cans, streetlights, mailboxes, etc., all helplessly open for any man to use. That was reality now, women had been stripped of all rights and reduced to property, powerless to challenge the rule of men. Christine silently thanked God that she was not among the least fortunate.

One of "lucky" ones, she thought bitterly to herself. It was a cruel joke really. Why was she lucky? Because she'd been quietly compliant. Once the new national laws had been enacted, Christine had kept her mouth shut and her conscience at bay. In doing so, she was one of the few that had been allowed to keep a job and a house. Many women had been immediately claimed at the outset of the power shift; kept as slaves, pets, fucktoys, and/or other degrading objects.

Christine had quickly figured out the lay of the land; those women who were disobedient or vocally oppositional were quickly removed from society, transferred, trained, and made to perform new dehumanizing forms of service. Luckily, Christine had avoided that, but that didn't mean her life was trouble free..

She thought back to last night and touched her cheek, where she'd applied a heavy coat of makeup to cover her bruise. All "free" women were required to leave their outside lights on when they arrived home from work until midnight; a signal indicating that they were home, they were free, and they were ready to be raped. Christine's situation was a dual edged knife; she'd been able to move into a nice house sequestered from the city and most of the hungry men that lived there. However, though the ritzy neighborhood was out of the way and not much traveled, it often attracted the most sadistic men, those looking to punish the "uppity" bitches who inhabited the area. Just a few days ago, Christine had witnessed her neighbor be brutally gangbangned (all "free" women were required to leave all windows unobstructed by blinds or curtains). She was near certain that the woman required medical attention, but knew better than to call the police on men; they likely would have arrested and raped Christine for sexual harassment.

Fortunately, the man who had assailed Christine last night wasn't overly violent, and though he fucked her roughly, he did not go to extremes, hence the singular bruise.

Christine stumbled momentarily on the sidewalk, barely preventing herself from falling over. She bent low to adjust the heel that had caught the cement and regretted the decision almost immediately.

Rough hands gripped her waist and she let out a shrill yelp before clamping her mouth shut. Christine could feel a bulbous cock begin to force itself into her pussy without permission, but she didn't utter a word, She instead stared straight ahead at a collared and leashed woman, on all fours near a man sitting on a bench, and willed herself to remain silent.

Had it been the first few days of the new regime, she would have cried, maybe even screamed, Back then, in those opening moments, the laws hadn't been so concrete, order was in disarray, women could get away with some semblance of disobedience.

Now however, any sort of resistance was countered with severe punishment. Christine knew this and let her body go limp as the stranger's cock fucked her mercilessly. His dirty fingers pried her mouth open as he pulled her face back, driving deep into her cunt and spraying his seed into her womb. Christine hardly had time to pray that she wouldn't become pregnant before another pair of hands squeezed her hips.

This time, the cock plunged into her asshole. Again, Christine's experience kept her from screaming out in pain. Instead she silently begged the powers that be that she wouldn't become pregnant from the first man's assault. Pregnant women were removed from society and transferred to a birthing center, contained to a cell. Once there, the pregnancy was carefully monitored and tended to. The women were treated like livestock; milked regularly and fed compounds that would ensure the birth of a healthy baby. Of course, they were also expected to be open for men to use during any of their downtime; the workers in the centers needed to have their desires satiated just like the rest of the men.

Christine gritted her teeth in discomfort as the cock continued to pound away until finally, the man yanked her hair and turned her around, forcing her to her knees. She stared at his yellowing teeth as he sprayed his warm cum across her face. He smirked as he finished, wiping his rod on her forehead before shoving her to the ground.

"You'll wear it today," he commanded curtly.

"Thank you Sir," replied Christine mechanically, as the law dictated.

The man left and Christine rose to her feet, straightening her skirt and checking her hair and makeup with her pocket mirror. Satisfied that she was presentable, she continued on her way to work.

She thought back on her error; bending over. She knew better but had been careless. Technically, any man could have his way with her (or any other woman) at any time, but they liked it more when women put themselves in compromising positions. That way they could mockingly justify their cruel actions by saying that the girls had been "asking for it." It was a subtle twisting of the narrative that had helped get so many horrific laws passed.

It could be worse, she reminded herself as she entered the elevator. A few of her male coworkers sniggered as they laid eyes on her, no doubt entertained at the sight of fresh cum dribbling down her cheek. Christine steeled herself and held her expression firm. This was her life now, and there was no victory in rebelling.

She knew how dissension was met in this new order. Her old boss, the CFO of the company, had been a vocal dissident. She was one of the first to be bought by a fellow employee. Soon after, she'd been mind wiped and given a new position. She now knelt at the water cooler every day, drooling mouth hanging open, eager to suck any and every cock that presented itself, no memory of her old life, only that of being a suck hole.

That wasn't even the worst punishment in Christine's mind. By the way the men described it, another of her coworkers and close friend was now being used as a urinal in the men's bathroom. She'd never ventured in there, but from what she'd heard, she knew that Carly was bound tightly on the cold tile of the restroom room and forced to swallow the men's urine or wear it on her face.

Christine again reminded herself that she was one of the lucky ones; she'd complied, she hadn't put up a fight like the others, she'd (outwardly) accepted her place. It was all for the best.

A smattering of post-it notes littered her desk as she arrived. Christine had been a high ranking exec before, but now she was merely a lowly secretary, just like the rest of the women who'd been allowed to keep jobs. She scanned the notes:

You're LATE! See Grigsby for discipline.

15 copies of the Rycher financials on Barrett's desk ASAP.

Mr. George needs a fresh cup of coffee.

Sharpen pencils for Rogers.

Fields needs a sandwich picked up.

The microwave in the break room is filthy, clean it immediately.

Footrest broke, see Lester so you can replace it.

Christine glanced at the office clock and sighed, it read 8:01am.

She was one minute late.

Peeling off the sticky note, she made her way towards Grigsby's office, wondering what her discipline would entail, even though she already had a good idea.

"Ahhhhhh, Chrissy!" exclaimed Grigsby. It was one of many pet names the men of the office called her, demeaning her further. Christine knew better than to voice her displeasure.

"Hello Sir, you wanted to see me?"

Grigsby grinned widely and spread his legs open wide; the button and zipper of his slacks were already undone, not an uncommon sight in the office.

"Yes Chrissy, you see, it's about your punctual-oops!"

Grigsby made an overly dramatic gesture of knocking his pen onto the floor and "accidentally" kicking it under his desk.

"Clumsy me! Chrissy, would mind retrieving my pen for me?" asked Grigsby, lust dripping heavily off of his wicked smile.

"Of course Sir," replied Christine automatically.

Defeated, she quietly dropped down to all fours and crawled under the desk. This was how she'd survived for so long; by being obedient, being compliant, submitting willingly.

Strong fingers gripped her hair and pulled her head back until her face was unceremoniously buried in Grigsby's crotch.

"Be a good girl now," he ordered.

Christine opened her mouth wide, devoid of emotion. It was just another day at work. She needed to keep this routine, day after day, to avoid a more perilous situation.

She just kept reminding herself.

She was one of the lucky ones.