Blue Eyes

Several minutes into the drive, i reached up absentmindedly with my right hand to scratch an itch on my hip. Before i had finished the brief movement, Mistress had tightened Her grip on my left thigh and sharply told me, "Don't do that, boy," which caused me to drop my hand immediately. Perhaps in response to the puzzled look that must have crossed my face, Mistress continued. "The area between a boy's navel and his knees is his Mistress's 'playground.' As are his nipples and ass. Those areas are for My hands to touch, not yours. It is considered extremely bad manners for a boy to touch himself in any of those places when in the presence of Women, without explicit permission to do so. Even when not in the presence of Women, you should touch those areas only to clean them. And I do want them kept very clean. Is that clear to you, boy?"

"Yes, Mistress. Apologies, Mistress," i replied, feeling certain that some sort of apology was in order.

"That's alright, boy," Mistress said, running Her hand up and down my thigh, "you have a lot to learn."

After a few minutes in silence, Mistress cleared Her throat and spoke again, as always in a measured, confident tone. "As a general rule, boy, you need to understand that the life you once lived - back home, before the war - is over. I don't want you thinking about it, nor dwelling upon it. It is over; the less time you think about it, the better. your new life is here. And that life is as My slave, My pet, My property. You will need to focus on this, learning your place, learning My rules, and internalizing My expectations. These will take all of your concentration and effort. Do you understand me, boy?"

"Yes, Mistress," i replied softly.

"But," She continued, "I do want to know some things about your background; things that were not included in the auction notes. As always, make your answers quick and brief. What did you do before the war, boy?"

"i was a teacher, Mistress," i answered plainly ... but immediately knew that i'd done something wrong as She sharply slapped the inside of my left thigh, which She had been petting. Then She took a deep breath, shook Her head slightly, and spoke with a measure of concern. "The word 'I' is a personal pronoun, boy, and it is properly used only by persons. Here that means exclusively Women. As you should already know, males like yourself are property, not persons, and are not allowed to refer to themselves as such. When you refer to yourself, you will use the third person singular. When speaking with Me, you will refer to yourself as 'Your boy' or 'Your pet' or 'Your slave.' When talking with other Women, you will refer to yourself as 'this boy' or 'this slave.' Do I make Myself clear, boy?"

"Yes, Mistress," i gulped. "Your boy understands."

"Good. Then continue. What kind of teacher were you?"

"i ... uhm ... Your boy taught college, Mistress ... politics."

"I see," She said. "you understand, I hope, that you are not a teacher here ... in any sense. If anything, you are a pupil, with much to learn if you are to please me and spare your butt from numerous beatings. No one here cares about what you know about politics; that is a job for Women. I don't want to ever see you paying attention to politics or expressing any sort of opinion about such matters. I don't even want you watching the news. Your duties are entirely domestic. Keeping My house, following My orders, pleasing and pleasuring Me will keep you more than busy. What goes on outside of My house, you will take no interest in. Do I make myself clear, boy?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Furthermore, although you are well educated, that too means nothing in this society. Boys are educated much differently here, trained for their domestic duties of cooking, cleaning, household finance, or whatever. your education is worthless to you here and you would be wise to accept that. I will have you re-educated and re-trained for your new chores. That means that the only things I ever want to see you reading are recipes. Is that clear?

"Yes, Mistress."

Turning a corner, Mistress resumed petting my leg. "Did you have a family, boy?"

"Yes, Mistress, Your boy is married."

"Was married, boy," She admonished me sternly. "you are property ... My property ... now."

"Yes, Mistress."

"For what it's worth," She added, "you are here, sitting naked in My car, bound by My leash, calling Me 'Mistress', because your former wife did not want you. After the Liberation, Women in your country were given the opportunity to claim Their former husbands as their slaves. yours apparently did not want you and allowed you to be put up for auction.

"Don't feel too badly about that, pet. I have heard that many Women in your former country preferred to start fresh, with slaves They knew in no other capacity. And We shipped over several hundred thousand well-trained boys, who had been raised as male chattel to help ease the transition."

She paused and let this sink in. "Did you have children, boy?"

"Yes, Mistress, one son."

"How old?"

"Sixteen, Mistress."

"I see. Of course, I don't know what happened to him (nor do I care), but I've heard that many male adolescents were rounded up after Liberation, 'harvested,' and shipped here for sale. If he hasn't already known the traumas of the auction house, he soon will ... just as you learned them. And, like you, he will soon wear a collar and learn his proper place, either here or in your liberated homeland."

Mistress was silent for a few moment, while this too sank in. Then S

he continued... "Should you happen across your son or any other male you knew before the war, you will remember your place. you are my property, just as the other boy will be property of his Owner. There is no male hierarchy here; no friends, no fathers, no sons, no uncles, no nephews. You are simply boys to the Women who own you and brothers to each other." She looked directly at me as She turned the car into another parking lot. "Clear?"

"Yes, Mistress, very clear."