A Femdom Dystopia

Note from the author

This story contains strong themes of femdom and non-consent and is darker than my other work.

I've always been a conservative man. A man of tradition. 'A people who forget their ancestors are lost'. And so on.

It will come as no surprise to the reader then, that my habits are old-fashioned. I prefer the radio to moving pictures and proper language to vulgarities. I put on my bowler hat when I go out. I still vote for the same party as my wife and wear the outfits that please her.

As any conservative man would.

And so the morning of August 15th found me on the commuter train, reading my newspaper as I did every Monday morning. I wore tight, white leggings, as is the style for men these days, and as is my wife's preference. I have overheard her before complaining to female guests about the men who are in the habit of stuffing their crotches. She bragged that her husband had no need for a codpiece and, after a few glasses of wine, she actually ordered me out from our room to prove this fact to her guests.

I can remember her pulling down my leggings and revealing my partially engorged penis to her five friends. She turned to me and laughed, "Does my little pet like being exposed in front of a room full of women?" I remember blood rushing both to my face and my groin as I bashfully nodded 'yes'. Then she had me fetch a measuring tape from my sewing kit. "8 and 3/4 inches" she declared proudly to her giggling guests. Part of me wanted to curl up in shame, but the weaker part of me had unfurled itself and was leaking on the floor.

I mention this ordinary anecdote because I still think of it every morning when I rearrange myself in the mirror before heading out. It is strange how the nature of men's fashion interplays quite closely with sexual culture. While women are afforded great privacy when it comes to the state of their arousal, a man's sexual state is a matter of constant public knowledge.

And so the dozen women who shared the train car that day with myself and one other man could not fail to notice that the second gentleman that day was in a state of arousal.

While my outfit is admittedly more salacious than one I would choose for myself, it still covered my skin from my neck to my ankles. The other gentlemen, however, had left several buttons of his dress shirt open, and his leggings were at least as tight as mine, if not tighter.

I'm not sure why he didn't cover himself up. True he needed one hand to steady himself, and another for his handbag, but surely the handbag could have been discretely positioned for more modesty rather than kept at arms-length. Perhaps it was heavy.

I'm more inclined to believe that the man was simply a slut.

Forgive my language.

And so it came as no surprise to me when several women, seemingly from the same group, drew closer to him. I lost sight of him in their circle, but I surmised from his feigned protestations that they were taking some liberties with his body. I heard his briefcase fall to the ground and saw that one of the women had forced his hand under her skirt and was pleasuring herself with it. I could see her exposed thighs up to the hem of her stockings and when I glimpsed her painted red lips parted in pleasure, I confess I felt an involuntary tingle.

I turned away, hoping to avoid becoming visibly erect and bringing the same dishonor on myself that this man was about to experience. I covered my groin with my newspaper and tried to angle away from the rest of the train car, though this caused me to directly face one young lady who was seated near me. Still, I could feel their stares on the back of my body, undressing me with their eyes.

Now normally such a scene would not have brought me to such arousal, but the fact is that my wife had denied me orgasm for quite some time. Like most women, her sexual appetite is far greater than mine, and she had recently become frustrated with my inadequate libido. And so she had forbidden me from ejaculating during sex, or at any other time. While this has not quite brought us to parity, it has at least achieved her goal of making me readily available to satisfy any of her urges.

You might wonder how I can control myself so thoroughly as to avoid climaxing while bringing my wife to several orgasms a day. I wish my self-control were perfect enough to accomplish this purely on my own willpower. But the truth is more interesting. Of course, sometimes I use my hands or mouth to serve her, but that alone would not always be enough. Instead, the real innovation has come from the brain of my wife, who decided to purchase for us a silicone sheath which I wear over my penis during intercourse.

Since the first time she made me put it on she has sworn she will never have sex with me again unless I wear it. My wife, you see, is obsessed with size, and although I am well over the average, she much prefers this artificially augmented member to the one nature has given me.

Once, a few weeks after our early experiments with the enhanced appendage, I applied too much lubrication before putting on the sheath, and managed to orgasm from the slight rubbing I felt on the interior. You can imagine my wife's anger when she noted my lack of enthusiasm, and pried the sticky sheath off my now flaccid member. She put me over her lap, and then turned the sheath inside out and fed it into my throat as she spanked me crimson.

I have not betrayed my wife's trust again since that day, but as several months have passed you can imagine that I have become quite on edge. While previously my wife had to force me to engage in certain acts which I found distasteful, I was now eager for whatever lewd fantasy she might construct.

And so the sight of a man being violated on the train was now more than enough to excite my starved body.

Finally, the young lady seated in front of me noticed my state. She put her finger to her lips, indicating that I should remain quiet and I got the feeling that even if she wasn't helping me selflessly, she would aid in disguising my predicament from the other women so long as I perhaps gave something in return.

When the train hit a particularly bumpy section of the track she pulled me closer by my belt. I was hardly strong enough to resist her and once repositioned I made no effort to back away since I was at least now shielded from sight, though completely at her mercy. With a sly face she ran her index finger up and down the shaft of my penis, perfectly outlined by the fabric that stretched and banded over it.

She was cute and young, perhaps the same age as the students I taught at the local college. But despite her innocent appearance, I knew my strength was no match for hers. From my vantage point I could see the swell of her breasts, and couldn't stop my eyes from wandering over their curves as winked at me and licked her lips.

Just then there was a shout from the other man in the train. His pants were at his ankles and his shirt had been torn open. I saw that one of the three women who was accosting him had now covered his mouth with her hand, while a second had forced him onto the train seat and was riding him with abandon. I watched her bounce in rhythm with the movement of the train and saw her throw her head back in ecstasy, moaning loud enough that it became impossible to ignore. When she finished all three women forced the man to stand.

At this point we were approaching the next station - still one away from my own. Still, I knew I'd have to disembark prematurely to avoid any more trouble. The young lady in front of me had slipped her right hand inside her skirt and was now rubbing me with the palm of her left rather aggressively.

I pushed away without warning, escaping her grasp and squeezing myself toward the exit, no doubt pressing myself on more than one woman who might have leapt at the chance to stop me if I had not been so decisive.

As the doors opened I turned to see the other man one last time. Two women held him vertically by his arms so that he was suspended off the ground, while the third who had her hand clamped over his mouth was rapidly stroking his hardness.

As I stepped off the train and onto the platform, I saw the first spurt of semen erupt from his tortured penis, at which point the women immediately dropped him so that he fell onto his own growing puddle on the train floor.

I should briefly explain that the end of this interaction was, strangely enough, the result of some recent legislation.

The Suffragent movement, which has enjoyed the fairly recent success of legalizing male voting, has been arguing that it is possible for a woman to sexually assault a man. Although no laws had previously been passed regarding this question, the courts took a kindly view, and admitted that men should not be submitted to unwanted sexual contact.

The key word here is "unwanted". Our society has always held that the body cannot lie. And so a man who is aroused can hardly claim that sexual contact is unwanted, and a man who enjoys an orgasm has even weaker grounds on which to object.

The women on the train were therefore demonstrating complete consent on the part of the male participant for any onlooker who might have found the display to be legally dubious.

"What a whore." I muttered to myself as I headed into the train station in search of a cab to complete the last leg of my journey.

I deliver a course on technical writing at the local college. Most men remain in the home, tending to domestic issues and raising children. Given the skewed gender ratio in our population, last calculated at two women for every man, this is really the only sensible approach for our society. Even so, my wife has been forward thinking enough to allow me this part time job. I suspect that this is actually another way that she likes to show me off. I hope I'm not being immodest when I say that I'm something of a trophy.

All of my students are female, and although they mean well, if they were truly talented they would not be in a college course learning how to write dialysis-machine manuals from a male-teacher.

For that day's class I put an exercise on the board and had them working on it while I circulated among the students.

As is commonly the case I received a few pinches on the buttocks or sly comments with a wink, but nothing that crossed the line of inappropriate. My own wife, had she been there, would have shared a laugh with them over their hijincks.

After some time I sat down behind my desk to look over the first completed draft of the day. As I did, Louise approached me from the back of the class.

Louise was an imposing young woman. She was perhaps three inches taller than me, though in the high heels she wore today she seemed like an Amazon. She wore a tight summer dress with a plunging neckline that made me feel nervous and awkward.

"I was hoping you could look this over, sir?"

She slid a single page toward me. I perused the contents.

Instructions for the operation of a vibrating pleasure machine

This device is intended to replace the male organ in bringing pleasure to the female consumer. First, a water-based lubricant is applied to the long shaft of the device [Label A]. Liberal application of the fluid is encouraged. The owner of the device should then part the outer lips of the vagina and slide the shaft inside to the desired depth. The consumer is encouraged to insert the device slowly, especially if they are unaccustomed to a similar girth in their male partner. The owner should then press the button at the base of the shaft [Label B] to engage a vibrating motor [Label C]. Unlike most male partners, the device can last for a maximum of 45 minutes."

Here I stopped reading.

"This isn't for a dialysis machine, Louise."

"No, my aunt owns a factory upstate. She's producing a line of this product and asked if I could help her with the manual. I thought I'd get you to check my work."

The request was unusual, though within my job description.

What came next was not.

"Of course, it would probably help if you saw the product yourself."

At this she reached under her dress and pulled out a long silver tube with a bullet point. The vibrating device was slick with her vaginal fluid and she passed it to me with the tip facing outward. My grip on the slippery device nearly failed and I needed both hands to avoid fumbling it.

As I sat there holding it and nearly shaking, she grinned at me roguishly.

At that moment I heard a loud commotion in the back of the classroom. I saw that two students were standing and a shelf had fallen over. I immediately rose to find out what was the matter and took several steps towards the source of the noise. When I was partway there I realized that it was a setup.

The girls had intentionally pushed over the shelf with the aim of bringing me closer, and now I was standing in the middle of the classroom, where my female students had a perfect view of my fully erect penis through my nearly bursting leggings.

I moved to cover myself, but realized what a grotesque picture I painted while trying to obscure my embarrassment with a second, even larger silver phallus now pointing out from my groin where my hands held it.

The girls laughed uproariously, and I honestly believe that the comedy of the situation was the only thing that prevented them from pouncing on me. I shudder to think of my complicity in what almost became a venal act of group sex. Fortunately, I quickly excused myself and ran for the bathroom, declaring a de facto end to the class with my exit.

I waited an achingly long time in that bathroom, ignoring lurid dreams of copulating with my students. How they might hold me down while I pretended to object but would ultimately perform cunnilingus on each one in turn. Eventually I got hold of myself and returned to the class, still carrying the silver vibrator. Everyone had left except for Louise. She was sitting on my desk with her legs crossed.

"You know it wasn't very nice of you to take my aunt's prototype and run away with it. I could have pressed charges against you if I wanted to."

Her threat came across as sincere.

"I'm sorry Louise, here, please take it back."

"Umm, you seemed to have gotten some sort of residue on it. I don't remember that being there when I gave it to you," she said, gesturing at the coating her own body had left on the device.

"Right, I'm sorry. I can go wash it up for you." I offered demurely.

"I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry. Why don't you just be a doll and lick it clean for me."

As she said this she uncrossed her legs, revealing her smooth golden thighs all the way to where they where they met her pink cotton underwear. The damp patch at their center was unmistakable.

I hesitantly took the silver tool back from her and began licking it clean. The powerful scent of her mingled with the metallic taste of the device on my tongue.

"Put it deep inside your mouth."

I did as she asked until almost gagged on the silver bullet tip. I felt my leggings once again shifting to accommodate my arousal.

"Good boy. You know, the battery ran out while I was on my way here. I was hoping you might be able to help."

I moved to back away but she was much faster than I was. Before I could even turn she had her hand wrapped firmly around my penis, which was once again hard from her taunting.

She clenched it so tightly that she might as well have had my balls in her grasp instead.

"Put your hands above your head." She ordered.

I gingerly did as she asked and then winced as she pulled down my leggings and ripped open my shirt, causing stray buttons to bounce on the tiled floor.

"Come here." She brusquely indicated the wall and I put my back against it.

I thought that maybe she'd force me down on my knees but I suppose in her state she didn't require much foreplay. Instead she simply tugged on her panties and let them fall to the floor.

I was almost more offended by how quickly she was going. If she was going to force herself on me like this, did I not at least deserve a peak at her ample breasts? But as she made her move there was no indication that she would bother taking her dress off. She was simply using me.

At first I kept my hands over my head but when she lifted me off the ground I quickly put them on her shoulder for balance.

Her relative strength was incredible and I must say that being picked up like a ragdoll was having an effect on me.

She adjusted my height until the tip of my penis was directly at the entrance to her loins, and as if she was following the instructions of her own manual she slowly moved closer and closer, swallowing me whole.

Once her hips were close enough to partially support my weight, she used one hand to hold both of my wrists high above my head. I tried to resist but it was like pulling against steel manacles. It drove me wild when my wife pinned me to the bed in such a way, but the extra thrill of having a relative stranger do it pushed me almost to the edge.

"You had better not cum until I'm finished with you, bitch." She moaned into my ear as she began thrusting against me.

She must have been on the edge herself because her screams quickly grew in volume. Doubtless many heard us and decided to discreetly avoid our room.

For my part I struggled to contain myself. It had been so long since I had actually felt the warmth and wetness of the inside of a woman that these feelings were quite overwhelming.

"Please, please stop this." The words came out of my mouth almost unbidden. But surely they were empty complaints as my erection was as hard as ever.

"You've been teasing us for months with that cute little cock straining in your leggings. You think there wouldn't be consequences, you little slut?"

Apparently the joy of speaking these words was enough to deliver Louise her first orgasm. Her warm breath spilled down the back of my neck as she moaned and panted.

After a pause, she set me down on the floor and I assumed was ready to leave, but instead pinned me by my shoulders and began again.

As I lay helplessly on the floor, I happened to glance at the window to the classroom.

I saw a face there that I recognized instantly, but in the haze of the moment I thought it was merely my imagination. Surely my wife wouldn't be here at this hour.

I locked eyes with the image of my wife and gave her a puzzled look. Clearly it was some sort of sexual mirage, for my real wife would not have hesitated to burst through the door to stop this instead of simply watching.

The second position that Louise adopted was not very pleasurable for me. In fact, it was painfully tight, and so I managed to forestall ejaculating inside her.

After straddling me for only a couple more minutes, Louise coaxed herself to a second climax. When she dismounted, she lay next to me and spoke into my ear.

"Now I need you to cum for me like a good slut," she said as she began rapidly stroking my red and swollen shaft with her hand.

There was no art or joy to what she did - a perfunctory task. When she felt that I was slow to obey her she had the grace to remove one breast from her dress and allow me to stare at it as she pumped away.

If I had any dignity I would have taken this opportunity to resist but instead I gave in. I dared not reach out to touch her breasts, but I devoured them with my eyes and permitted her to siphon the ejaculate from my throbbing testicles. As soon as the first rope flung out from inside me she released her hand, and I felt the disappointment of the loss of her touch as my now hollow orgasm continued to mechanically pump jism from my testes onto my chest and stomach.

I lay there breathing deeply for what felt like several minutes after she left. When I finally stood to my feet, wearing nothing but my own sperm, I found myself face to face with my wife.