Jeffi Surrenders to the Gynarchy

Author's note: A vignette while I work on longer things...

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Jeffrey sat, already naked, one leg chained to the floor in a long windowless room filled with twenty desks, most empty. The desk across from Jeffrey was at that moment occupied by slave-processor first-class Mary H-, who typed lazily on her keyboard as Jeffrey answered her questions. The lean man's eyes kept drifting down to the cleavage that bulged from Mary's red dress, but she showed no sign of minding.

"Now Jeffrey, think this over one more time: you can still walk away a free man and get on the shuttle going offworld, you'd be free within a day and you could live your life as you see fit. Do you really want to immigrate into our society, Jeffrey? You're only 48, with our medical tech you'll live another fifty healthy, active years.

"And you'll live them here, Jeffrey, because you'll be a slave. No freedom, no rights, a chattel, some woman's possession to do with as she sees fit. You will absolutely not be able to leave, no matter what happens to you. Ever. Ah, there's that twitching cock again, Jeffrey, you naughty boy. Are you sure you want to become a slave for the rest of your life? All your assets will transfer to the Gynarchy, Jeffrey, you'll have nothing. Are you sure?"

"Mistress Mary, I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I consent freely to becoming a slave."

"Do you accept that legally you will cease to be a person and become instead a thing, an owned thing, to be bought and sold like any other piece of property?"

"I accept I will become someone's property."

"Not a person."

"Not a person, Mistress Mary."

"Do you accept loss of control over your body, loss of rights to self-determination, loss of protection from pain, punishment and degradation?"

"I accept all that, Mistress Mary."

"Approved, and that was in fact your last chance to back out, so as of this moment you are now the property of the Gynarchic Government until such time as you are sold to an owner. Pick up the collar on the desk and snap it closed around your neck: good boy! Now pick up the pain ring and clip it to your balls. Good boy! Already so obedient, such a good little boy for Mary. Now lock the big cuffs around your ankles. Now the smaller ones around your wrists. Chair: release. Slave, be silent, walk through the double door over there bordered with yellow and black stripes. Follow all orders given to you."

Jeffrey nodded mutely, stood and bowed, then he walked carefully past the other desks, not even noticing the glances and smiles he got along the way. He was finally doing it, living out his dream, being who - or rather, what - he was meant to be. He marched through the office with shaky limbs and then pushed open the double doors.

"Slave, place your wrist chain into the clamp above your head," said a robotic voice.

Jeffrey did so, and he felt his wrists snap to a metal gear that was attached to a long track that weaved its way across the ceiling. He was led through a long corridor made of reinforced concrete that wound its way around several sharp bends, where Jeffrey was scanned, chemically sniffed, x-rayed and sonically probed, all to check one last time he was harmless to his new owners. He would never have harmed a woman, but they weren't to know that, so he accepted the caution they were taking.

He emerged into a white-tiled room where the overhead lines that pulled him along branched off in different directions. Jeffrey was led along at a fair clip towards a door labelled 'loading bay', then along a long, long, quiet corridor, and finally out into the bright sunlight that bathed a stretch of concrete.

The chain led him on, now attached only to a metal frame above Jeffrey's head, before finally a floating drone took the clamp and cajoled Jeffrey into the rear of a cattle truck. A young female guard gagged the wide-eyed male, then she pushed him into a standing cage, one of the last still to be filled in the truck; in the rest stood naked, silent males, all staring straight ahead.

"Remain silent, look ahead of you, don't fidget. We have four more pieces of cargo to load - cargo like you - then we're off to deliver you all," said the guard, then she walked away and went back to watching a little holo screen playing music videos.

There was no holo screen for the slaves in the cattle truck: for them, being told to wait should be enough satisfaction. An hour later after a short journey, Jeffrey was led out of the truck and inside the safety of a compound whose thick walls were topped with barbed wire and automated stun guns. Jeffrey and thirteen other men were pushed and prodded through the cool hallways of the main building inside the compound, seeing no other men along the way, before arriving inside an old-fashioned classroom.

At the front stood a school mistress dressed in a tight white blouse and a figure-hugging black skirt. She ordered the boys to fan out and each stand behind a desk - there were no chairs - then to await further instructions. Jeffrey began to sweat. His heart started to race and his vision swam out of focus, then a sharp shock from his control collar brought him back to his senses.

"Boys, open your desks!" said the schoolmistress in a short, sharp tone; she wielded a crop and punctuated each word with a tap of it against her hand.

"Boys, feast your eyes on what is inside: each of you has been provided with a pair of pretty pink ruffled panties, and pretty pink holdup stockings. Boys, the panties will resize to fit you. Boys, put on your panties immediately, for you are now, and shall be forever, pantyboi slaves. You, Malcolm, good boy, you look pretty in your panties, just as you should.

"You, Pierre, and you, Imran, you look pretty in your panties. Boys, you're doing so well... But what's this? Speak, boy Jeffrey, why aren't you putting on your panties?"

"Please, Mistress, I didn't think I'd be a sissy slave, Mistress, I've never been that way inclined, Mistress," said Jeffrey.

"Which is precisely why you'll make an interesting pantyboi, Jeffi, because you'll be trained to it from cold and everyone will know we took you and broke you and trained you into this. Jeffi, you'll be wearing panties for most of the rest of your life, loud and frilly ones most likely, to draw the eye to your status as a giggling, whimpering, simpering, simple funtime pantyboi, a nice all-round service boi without tits, usually employed in the 'personal service' industry, which is to say that you'll be a whore for rent."

"But-" stammered Jeffrey.

"You are no longer a man, you are a boi. Put on your frilly panties now, Jeffrey, let us all see you in them, then the stockings... I'm waiting, and I do not like to wait ... No? You, the big tough pantyboi at the back there, come here, and you too, you look strong. Grab one of Jeffi's wrists each and pin him down to the desk, so he's facing down and his bottom is in the air. You, boi, pass me that cane.

"Now you two bois, grab those panties and pull them up Jeffi's legs, but not quite all the way. Good... Good... You see, Jeffi, no resistance is really possible now you're part of our world, but, oh you do squirm delightfully. Now give me some room. A naughty pantyboi has to be suitably punished.

"Jeffi, count each stroke and say 'Thank you, I am a pantyboi', beginning ... now!"

"One! Thank you! I am ... a p-" Jeffi said, then trailed off.

"Yes?"

"I am a pantyboi."

"Good boi. Here comes the rest."

"Two! Thank you! I am a pantyboi! Three. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Four. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Five. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Six. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Seven. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Eight. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Nine. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Ten. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Eleven. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Twelve. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Mercy, mistress!"

"None. Continue."

"Thirteen. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Fourteen. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Fifteen. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Sixteen. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Seventeen. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Eighteen. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Nineteen. Thank you, I am a pantyboi. Twenty! Thank you, I am a pantyboi!"

"And so we learn our first lessons, bois. Jeffi, pull up your panties and put your stockings on, good boi. You look lovely and slutty in pink, Jeffi, and we will spend the next month bringing out your inner slut until you have quite forgotten whatever life and career you lived before, and you are a happy, vacant, bubble-bottomed pantyboi.

"Some confusion you have, Jeffi? We'll be making many alterations to your bodies: fatter lips, long glossy hair, curved eyelashes, permanent eyeshadow, wider hips, but first and foremost we'll fatten out those scrawny arses of yours until they sway as you walk, most often in some nice heels, and everyone will turn to see your luscious backsides bulging out around your ruffles. Perfection.

"Class, the first lesson is all about attitude. When you leave this room tonight, each of you will be some way down the path to forgetting your masculine behaviours and adopting the hyper-femme-slut thinking and speech patterns of the true pantyboi slave. Your owners will demand nothing less, and this school always, always, delivers. Now, repeat after me: my bottom lives to be wrapped in luscious panties."

"My bottom lives to be wrapped in luscious panties," said Jeffrey, as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"Good boi, Jeffi: louder next time!" said the schoolmistress, a thin smirk spreading across her face. "Repeat the phrase!"

"My bottom lives to be wrapped in luscious panties," said Jeffrey, louder.

"I am first and foremost a femboi slut," said the teacher.

"I am first and foremost a femboi slut," repeated the class.

"Again."

"I am first and foremost a femboi slut," they said.

"Jeffi, just you."

"I am first and foremost a femboi slut," he said.

"Louder and with feeling," said the teacher, whooshing a cane through the air.

Jeffi bellowed it, "I am first and foremost a femboi slut."

"Good boi! Class: I will sway my hips when I walk, so everyone knows I'm a proper pantyboi."

"I will sway my hips when I walk, so everyone knows I'm a proper pantyboi," said the class.

"Again. With feeling!"

"I will sway my hips when I walk, so everyone knows I'm a proper pantyboi," repeated the class; a sob was heard in the room.

"Good, let go of your masculinity, you don't need it anymore. It belongs to us and we've put it in the bin. Again!"

"I will sway my hips when I walk, so everyone knows I'm a proper pantyboi," said the class.

"I am no longer a man; I am a pantyboi," said the teacher.

"I am no longer a man; I am a pantyboi," said the class.

"Jeffi, what is your gender?" said the teacher.

"Um..."

"It begins with P."

"I am a pantyboi."

"Good boi!"

On and on the mantras went, and Jeffi felt his mind slipping into the rhythms of repetition with increasing ease. He cried a little as he was made to let go of his old self, and was surprised that a creeping feeling of relief could be felt rising up inside him. Did he really care so much about the way the world saw him, if it saw him as a hot piece of slave arse? He had wanted slavery, after all, and that did mean at the end of the day, he had wanted to surrender control.

An hour into the mantras Jeffi stood up straighter. He had noticed some of the other bois in the class were warming to their roles, and the feeling of calm acceptance they radiated started to affect Jeffi too; he put his hands on his hips and widened his stance, then he really started to feel the luxurious fabric against his skin, the way it made him tingle, the way it felt cool and silky and smooth, the way it moved with him. So he was a pantyboi, then: that was that, he figured.

"I am a pantyboi, and a pantyboi is what I am meant to be," said Jeffi, repeating the teacher's words obediently.

He felt the words affecting him, and saw the teacher smile at him with real warmth. She walked over to Jeffi as he kept on repeating the phrases, and she ran her hands over the new boi's panties and made his skin prickle beneath them. He enjoyed her touch and she enjoyed the sight of his enjoyment; with a quick flick of his dick beneath the fabric, the teacher walked away, and Jeffi felt a little rush of disappointment as she left. He consoled himself with a simple realisation: as a pantyboi, many would enjoy what the teacher just had, and for far longer.