Sold From the North

"Master Darren?" came an uncertain voice behind me. "I was supposed to see you next."

With a knowing smile, I turned around and took in the sight of the voice's author. Standing in the doorway to my room was a young woman, of slightly below average height, who blushed visibly. Her hair, which was halfway between brown and black, hung exactly as low as her cheeks, giving her wide face a dynamic accent. In an effeminate, looping knot, a teal bow held her hair in a short side-ponytail. Her green eyes stared shyly at me from beneath a wispy pair of eyebrows, and her coquettishly pouty lips quivered. Around her short, thin neck was a rubber collar with a D-ring on the front, and she was stripped down to nothing but a pink see-through dress, plus a chastity belt. A vibrator control box hung on a strap on her right thigh, connected to a wire that led inside of her.

My smile deepened; this was my next customer.

I am Master Darren, a worker at the biggest dominator brothel in this city. Months ago, I was kidnapped from my home in an archipelago somewhere and brought here to be a sex slave to a sergeant of the conquering army. After owning me for a month, she sold me to this brothel. I may technically still be a slave, but women are now the ones who obey on my leash.

I now live in the Snefolk republic, where brothels are different. Women are dominant here by default, and their men are their slaves. A woman who cannot afford a slave can rent one; there is no need for male prostitutes. What there is a need for, however, is dominant men. Even here, there are women who feel the need to submit to masculine authority. For them, there are establishments like this one- an island of male domination in a sea of matriarchy. For women like the one before me, it was an enclosed paradise.

When my next customer saw what was behind me, she let out a delicate gasp. Smirking, I looked over my shoulder at my last hour's handiwork.

A woman hung from the ceiling, suspended by four ropes. Two ropes wrapped around her wrists, holding them over her head, and two looped around her knees, holding them up and apart. Her thick, jet-black hair was dyed red at the ends and was held in a wide ponytail by a red hair tie. In contrast to her hair, her skin was exceptionally pale, contrasting sky-blue eyes that stared out from beneath short but well-defined eyelashes. Her eyes were begging me.

Whether she was begging to be dominated more or to be set free was unclear; the session she had paid for had technically ended seven minutes ago. As submissive, however, her freedom was mine to give or take as I wished, and I had chosen to keep her for a little while longer.

Depriving her of her ability to speak was a small, cream-tinted pink ball gag with a strap that matched the red accents of her hair. On her chest, I had scrawled the words 'submissive slut' in black ink marker, indicating her status to anyone who saw her. Her breasts, which were loosely chained together by the nipples, heaved in and out as a motorized dildo machine very slowly pushed into her, then pulled back out.

"Alright," I began, turning off the machine. "I've decided you've had enough."

Now her eyes were definitely begging for more.

Pulling the dildo from her, I inserted my two longest fingers and stroked, very quickly but very gently. Like clockwork, she began to moan again. She kicked her head back and tried in vain to thrust herself farther onto my fingers as I pushed her to a second precious orgasm. As her nasally, helpless moaning died down again, I unstrapped the ball gag and forcibly pulled her into a kiss. With a wave of satisfaction, I noticed her reciprocating me for a few seconds before I pulled out of her mouth.

With that final assertion, I untied her legs, then her wrists, then guided her by the D-ring of her collar out the door before closing it behind her.

"Now," I said to the new customer, unlatching her chastity belt and yanking out her vibrator. "I'll give this back if you're a good girl. Understand?"

"Y-yes sir," stuttered the girl.

It was good to be a dominator- or, as we called ourselves, a dom. When I first arrived, I had recycled my warrior's aggression as theme for my domination, dressing in a loincloth and cracking my whip like a weapon until women cowered before me. Now, I had remade myself. No longer was I a brute who conquered by force. Now, I was like a spider. I was an omnipresent, leather-clad shadow who used devices to rob women of one faculty after another until, eventually, they could only stare back at me and wonder what I would see fit to do to them next.

Then, one day, my world changed again.

It was late morning, and one of the other doms sat down with me and helped me read a book, honing my skills in Snefolk scripture. It had not been long since I began my education, but, for lack of anything else to do during the brothel's off hours, I had learned an impressive amount.

"Yes, ma'am?" said the voice of the receptionist, the only man in the building who ever answered to women.

Looking up, I saw him taking a call.

"Sergeant?" the receptionist retried. "Yes, ma'am, we have him... Exactly 125 marks, ma'am, plus normal fees. What? Hold on, I need to check this with the records."

The receptionist's eyebrows rose. Only when I noticed this did I realize that I had not been reading. I refocused on the page. Inevitably, however, I could not keep focused. Nothing stimulated my razor-sharp listening instincts faster than the alluring puzzle that is half of a conversation.

"Why yes, ma'am, your name is right here. And the date checks out, too. Alright ma'am. Just come by whenever is most convenient for you... excellent. Goodbye."

The word 'sergeant' should have told me all that I needed to know, but, incredibly, my erstwhile mistress never came to mind; my whole time as a submissive had become a blur for me.

Soon, the doorbell rang, and, a few seconds later, a woman emerged from the airlock doors.

Glancing at her, I marveled at her toned musculature, which was a rarity among our customers. Her extensive clothes also caught my eye; she seemed to be in no position to disrobe. Had I recognized her Snefolkan combat boots, I would have put it all together on the spot. As it was, I and the other doms stared with fascination at what we assumed to be our next customer. Each of us silently hoped that he would be the one to dominate this anomalous specimen.

However, when the assistant, Vladimir, approached to collar her, the receptionist motioned him away. Instead, he handed the woman a leash, which she took in her hand. Walking up to me, she reached out with the leash.

"Hey," I protested, batting her arm away, "don't you dare leash me."

As her response, the woman slapped me across the cheek with the back of her hand.

"Aah!" I growled, clutching the place of impact. "Why you little-"

Before I could finish, I felt a gloved palm on the base of my neck, pushing me off balance. Flat on my back on the soft padded floor, I looked up. The woman knelt on my chest, and, before I knew it, I was on a leash.

I was on a leash. This had not happened since before I became a dom. Before I could register this disgrace, however, I heard something even more shocking.

"Snap out of it, Silk. It's me."

My face slackened.

"M-mistress?"

"That's right," she said, matter-of-factly hoisting me back onto my feet. "You're coming home."

"No..." I breathed.

Ignoring me, Mistress pulled me towards the doors. Stumbling behind her, I glanced imploringly at the other doms, seeing looks ranging from bafflement to sympathy. With a sinking heart, I realized that there was nothing any of them could do.

All the way back to Mistress' house, I was numb. I had no idea what lay in my immediate future. Mistress was not as talkative as she had been before, asking her anything was out of the question and I was not even sure that we were going back to her house at all.

The unfamiliar feeling of cold slowly penetrated deeper and deeper into me as the walk dragged on, until, at last, we reached our destination. It was Mistress' house. I was back here again.

Without a word, Mistress quickly stripped me, then hauled me into my old slave room, which looked like no one had set foot in it since my departure. In the middle of this room, Mistress locked my feet into a pair of shackles fixed to the floor. Imperiously, she strode over to the side of the room and stood next to a full-length mirror, where I saw my reflection, nude but defiant.

With a sudden horror, I realized that my introduction to slavery was repeating itself. Replacing my sudden grimace with a look of steely determination, I decided to see how much trouble I could make for Mistress before I submitted to her again.

"Now, Silk," Mistress began, in the most intimidating growl I had ever heard from her. "You probably think your life still hasn't changed. Well, there has been a mix-up. Actually, there have been two. Now, how do you address me?"

It occurred to me to start out by calling her 'Joan,' or perhaps even 'bitch,' but my dom days had taught me to start slowly.

"Sergeant," I answered.

Mistress scrutinized me, trying to tell if I my incorrectness was deliberate.

"Wrong," she simply answered.

I felt the sting of her whip.

"To you, I am Mistress. Understand, boy?"

"Yes, Mistress," I conceded, deciding to be prudent.

Mistress' face relaxed slightly, as though she thought she had already won. I did not put it past her to put on such a front to inflate my confidence temporarily, however. She had played such mind games before.

Mistress turned and began to leave, then stopped and looked back to me. Hesitating, she gave a little smile and grabbed my penis. Helplessly, I watched as I stiffened under her caress. Mistress tried to make eye contact with me, but I would not let her see that she had already taken control.

With a grin, Mistress unlocked my feet and led me by the leash out of the slave room and into hers. When she laid me down on her bed, I decided that I had a good opportunity for another act of defiance: I sat up.

Mistress turned to me and calmly ordered, "Lie back."

"Not now, Mistress," I refused.

Mistress turned to me and stared me down with eyes like lasers.

"Do you understand what you are getting into, disobeying a command, slave?"

"No, Mistress," I truthfully answered. "And I am not the kind of man to let this happen without a fight."

Mistress grabbed my wrist and forcibly shackled it to the bed frame, rolling her eyes as she did.

"Firstly, Silk, you are not any kind of man," she explained. "You are a boy. As long as a woman owns you, you will always be a boy. Secondly, this is not a fight."

She drew a flogger.

"Only one of us is going to get hurt."

Once she finished binding my limbs to the bed, Mistress quickly disrobed and crawled onto me. Reaching down, she fondled my manhood. I cringed, trying not to show my arousal as fireworks went off in my brain.

"You like that, don't you?" Mistress observed, in a tauntingly airy voice. "You haven't felt pleasure like this since you last served me, have you?"

"I..." I stuttered. "I bet that bitch still has 'slut' written on her tits!"

Before I could look up, nine metal tips traced lines of pain across my skin.

"Snap out of it, slave," Mistress growled. "You were never free. You were still serving women; at their behest, on their terms and under their control."

As she spoke, Mistress pinched my nipples, digging her nails into the soft flesh.

"Never!" I grunted, unable to summon a better retort.

"You know what?" Mistress decided, leaning over and grabbing something. "I've decided that you're done talking for a while."

With that, a ball gag forced its way into my mouth. Once again, I had not been ready. I gave a little exclamation of surprise, which the gag twisted into a moan.

"Such a pretty picture," purred Mistress, sitting up and admiring her handiwork.

I felt Mistress' hands on my chest, her fingers running along the lines left by her whip, then wandering around my pectorals, then pulling my nipples. She let out a restrained gasp of arousal.

"Ha," I desperately thought, "I'm arousing her. She can't control herself after all. How can she-"

Before I could finish my rationalization, I felt her hand on my cock again. Against by best efforts, it rose to her touch as though it were part of her body and not mine. I failed to stifle a groan.

With a victorious giggle, Mistress removed my ball gag.

"I want to hear you beg me," she gleefully commanded.

"F-for what?" I breathed, as her fondling sent pleasure chemicals running through my head.

"Beg me to use you," Mistress detailed.

"Not... yet..." I resisted.

All at once, Mistress dismounted me.

"Then I guess I'll have you make dinner."

I stared at her incredulously. When she stopped on her way out of the room and looked teasingly back at me, I realized that it was an act.

And it was working perfectly.

"Please, Mistress," I begged, resting my head on the pillow, "fuck me."

"With passion," Mistress ordered, as her right hand wandered to her moistening womanhood. "And remember who's the slave here."

"Please, Mistress," I repeated. "Use this slave. He's yours."

"That's right," she replied. "He is."

Suddenly, I felt her knees on my open hips. Looking up, I saw her lowering the ball gag to my face. I opened my mouth obediently.

"Good boy," she cooed. "Now for the fun part."

A few drops of warm female juice splattered onto my lower torso as Mistress moistened her lips with her fingers, then lowered them onto my waiting shaft.

All at once, it was happening. My rod was fully engulfed and Mistress pumped with all of her strength. For just a few seconds, I grunted, moaned and struggled, then gave in. I focused on keeping my posture firm and responding to Mistress' movements with my own thrusts. I heard her give out a pleasantly surprised little squeal.

Mistress became my whole world.

With a loud grunt, I felt my orgasm coming. Bracing myself, I erupted inside of her. With a sudden horror, I realized that Mistress had not yet climaxed, until I heard her moaning rising in pitch as well. Just as my cock began to deplete, I felt Mistress's moaning rise to a singing tone as she came all over me. Once as she pulled up, I went limp.

"Good boy," she cooed, crawling up to my chest and removing the gag. "Now, what do we say?"

"Thank you, Mistress."

"That's it," she approved, standing up. "You're going to do just fine, Silk."

With that, she left me.

The feeling of Mistress being my whole world had not gone away. Looking around, I realized that I was thinking like a slave again, seeing every object only as it pertained to Mistress. It had taken me weeks to hone my skills as a dominant. Mistress had made me submissive again in half of a day.

With a sigh of relaxation, I accepted that submission was my natural state. I no longer remembered how I had become dominant, but it no longer mattered. That was not my life anymore.

A few minutes later, Mistress came back into her room and untied me. After she ran me through the shower, I made her dinner in humble silence.

That night, Mistress led me off to the slave room, where she gave me an approving pat on the head before sending me to bed. As I settled back in my familiar servile cot, I relaxed. I had forgotten how good it felt to have no responsibility.

The next morning, I got up and performed my old duties like clockwork. Before Mistress sat down to eat her breakfast, she groped my hindquarters and gave me, of all things, a despondent look.

"We're going somewhere today, Silk," she announced.

"Both of us, Mistress?" I asked.

"Yes," she clarified. "And I'm not going to see you again."

I froze in my tracks.

"What?"

"Don't worry," she assured, "you'll still have a mistress. But it won't be me."

Something was on the tip of my tongue. I hesitated to say it, not knowing if I was allowed to speak or not.

"I'll miss you too, Silk," Mistress replied, reading my mind. "Now get your things packed in the brown suitcase. We leave soon."

The walk outside Mistress' house was, again, a blur for me. I stared sadly at her as I walked beside her, trying he burn her image into my memory.

When we rounded the last corner of our trip, I started at what I saw; a jet, similar to the one in which Mistress had brought me here, sat readily on a landing pad. I looked uncertainly to Mistress, who patted me on the back reassuringly.

The jet ride brought back all sorts of memories, none of which I liked- memories a time after I was a women's property, but before I had submitted to them. When, at last, we touched down, one final wave of dread washed over me, and I wanted more than anything to disembark.

I stepped out into hot, muggy air, blinded by sunlight. I felt Mistress leading me by the leash, before her gentle, firm hands on my shoulders folded me into a kneeling position.

"Here you go, ma'am," Mistress said to someone. "The old sights might make him relapse a bit, but be assertive, don't hesitate to punish and he'll be good. Men have an entire organ for controlling them, after all."

In response, I heard a giggle in a voice that was not Mistress'.

I knew that voice. Where did I know that voice?

Another woman stood over me.

"Welcome home, sweetheart."

My jaw dropped. Looking up as my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I saw the exact woman I had heard holding my leash: Mona.

Mona, the last submissive woman I had ever known personally. Mona, my girlfriend from my home village. I saw her shaking hands with Mistress, then watched as the latter boarded her jet and lifted off, then flew away. Looking around, I realized that I was in my home village.

Mona put her right hand on her hip and, with her other hand, grabbed my chin and made me face her.

"So, Darren, what do you think?" she enthusiastically asked.

Words failed me.

"The other girls and I struck a deal with the Snefolkans," she explained. "And our part of the deal was you boys in front of us, on your knees."

I gaped at her in stupefied disbelief.

"You... you wanted me as a slave?" I sputtered.

"Yes, I did," Mona grinningly explained. "Don't you want to be my slave?"

I looked into her sweet, trusting eyes.

"Yes," I complied. "Yes, mistress, I do."

"Oh, you don't have to call me mistress," Mona permitted. "'Mona' will do just fine. Now come on, Darren. I'm taking you hunting!"

With that, she skipped on to the tool hut, where she suited us both up in hunting gear, then ecstatically pulled me off into the jungle.

All while she did, I looked inquisitively at her, trying to determine how much of the old Mona was still there. With only mild shock, I realized that she had undergone no reformation at all.

On this, I was forced to realize that Mona was traitor.

But I love her anyway.