Summer in the Gynarchic Empire

Summer in the Gynarchic Empire

Part 1 - Arrival

I was seated next to Arabella on the aircraft, but I had noticed the male flight attendants only addressed her, and they did so as "Miss", always respectful. They wore steel collars and tight black PVC shorts, along with cuffs on their ankles and wrists, and they were the first real slaves I'd ever seen in the flesh. Each looked healthy, fit, and happy, and seeing them made me feel better about my decision to visit the Gynarchic Empire with my friend Arabella for the summer.

About an hour from our destination, an announcement came over the tannoy of the aircraft. "Ladies, we have passed into the jurisdiction of the Empire. Please ensure all males are wearing an activated control device, and are dressed for family areas, as the airport is an all-ages space. Thank you."

"OK, Gregory," said Arabella to me, "that means you need to take off everything except your shorts and hand them to me, then I need to collar you. Oh, it's exciting! Are you excited?"

"I am! Yep! Uh-huh!"

"Oh, Greg, scared too aren't you? Don't worry, it'll be a great adventure for both of us. I can't wait to get you home, you know? Really get you settled in. Of course, we'll have to go through immigration first."

Arabella had me stand up in the aisle and go down to just the shorts, then she had me kneel and clipped the collar around my neck. It buzzed when it closed around my neck, letting me know its sensors and shockers were active. I stood up but she pushed me back down to the floor and had me kneel there a minute or two, waiting for her command. It was lucky, in a way, that the high-tech shorts she'd given me to wear suppressed erections, because right in that moment she looked hot as hell.

Arabella was a slim redhead with a freckled face and piercing blue eyes. She had pale lips, a button nose and soft features, and she wore her wavy hair long. She wore a white summer dress that fell to mid-thigh, and brown leather boots, and she had small firm breasts that the dress fell around loosely.

We had slept together a few times back home, always with me subbing, but she refused to call me her boyfriend. I had met her at university, and we had both just finished our final years together, and were looking for what to do next. She knew of my interest in the female-dominated culture of the Gynarchic Empire, and had suggested I join her for the summer on a slave-visa to see what life was like in that huge equatorial country.

When we touched down, she held my hand and led me off the aircraft and through into the gleaming airport. We arrived in a maze of corridors that led to a long, well-lit waiting area where people stood in lines going through passport control. To the side were little shops staffed by male slaves, selling food, water, medicine, little knick-knacks, alongside chains, whips and floggers.

Everything was clean, shiny and modern, and I saw lots of smiling faces among the men and women who had just got home. We didn't collect any luggage - she told me a drone would ferry it for us - and we went straight for the immigration line and joined it. While we waited, I had a chance to look around and get my bearings.

There were lots of male staff, all collared and wearing PVC shorts. Some had shorts with the logo of the travel company that ran the airport, and they were busy serving the needs of the travelers that passed through the place. They did everything with real smiles, smiles that went right to their eyes. Others wore shorts with different logos, or plain shorts, patterned shorts, all kinds of designs. I didn't have much time to look at them before we got to the front of the line. The woman at the desk wore a guard's uniform, and she took my passport and Arabella's, then addressed her.

"New slave?"

"Yep, a three-month visa. It's all there."

"Sure, looks good to me. OK, please take him through to processing. Good luck, slaveboy, enjoy your visit."

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied, and Arabella patted my bottom, by which she meant 'well done'.

A door in one wall led us through to 'processing'. The first area was a locker room, where we were met by several clothed female guards and several stocky, naked male slaves. A sign indicated that this was a non-family area, and that males should be nude and silent. There were a few other new arrivals there, including a boy - who must have been just recently eighteen - and his middle-aged mother.

"But mom," he said, "I don't want to do this visit anymore. I want to go home."

"You can't go home, honey, you've already entered the country, so you're committed now. Look, we've visited your aunt and cousins lots of times before, it'll be fine."

"Yeah, but, well, I didn't realise it'd be different now I was an adult."

"You're not acting like an adult."

"I don't want to go naked."

"You have to."

"I'm not ready."

"Can someone help?"

"Sure thing," said a waiting guard. "Boys, strip and cuff him."

Two of the stocky male slaves, one black and one white, moved in on the 18-year-old boy and grabbed him. One went behind the boy, got him in a bear hug, and lifted him off the ground, while the other went in front and yanked the boy's shorts off. He kicked a bit but the slave blocked the feeble attacks and grabbed the boy's balls and squeezed.

He shrieked, then the fight went out of him and he became pliant and looked at the slave with real fear in his eyes. The slave let go of the boy's balls, then cuffed his hands and legs and added a leash to the boy's collar, which was handed to his mother. She led him off like that, him shuffling behind to keep up.

I looked at Arabella and she gestured at my shorts. I took a breath and pulled them down, then I put them in a locker and she used her thumbprint to seal the lock shut. One of the female guards handed Arabella cuffs, and she used them to lock my hands behind my back. I opened my mouth to protest - I was there willingly after all - then I remembered myself. Slaves didn't protest when they were bound. That done, Arabella went into her bag and got out a long chain leash, which she attached to my collar. I felt an electric shiver run across my skin when she leashed me, an energy that passed between us. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at my naked body.

"Come, slave Gregory, follow me. Oh, you don't know how good it feels to address you properly. I know the Nations are a great place to get an education, but I've missed living somewhere with a proper culture. You're going to find our relationship changes now, but trust me, it's for the better. I'll still care about you, and for you, just in a different way. In fact, I bet you'll never want to leave!"

"Yes, Mistress," I responded carefully.

We were taken through into a medical examination room, where a male attendant and a female doctor checked me over. I stood stock still as they worked, always aware of the guards milling around and the collar around my neck. I knew the collar could deliver a hard electric shock, and that in that place any disobedience on my part would not invite careful explanation or negotiation.

It was thrilling to stand there and be handled like a slave. They did some normal tests first, drawing blood and taking a saliva sample, then they scanned my whole body with a laser device that measured me. The male attendant grasped my cock and used the scanner to measure it, then my balls, and these measurements became part of my file. He read them out as he went.

"New slave, height 188, chest 106, waist 81, weight 70, balls classification medium, cock length 11, circumcised, un-depilated except for penis and testicles, classification small-medium, the slave has blue eyes, short brown hair, no visible scars, no visible piercings, and has full use of hands and feet. Slave build is light, requiring basic restraints only, which are already attached in the form of a smart-collar."

"Sexual health?" asked the doctor, taking over.

"He's been fully checked, he's clean goods," said Arabella.

"Scans clean, goddess," said the male.

"Prior training?" said the doctor.

"Minimal. None, really," replied Arabella.

"Psychological health?"

"No issues I'm aware of," said Arabella.

"Stress levels appear fine, goddess," said the male.

"OK. Scans are clear, blood checks out. Import is approved. Do you want him stamped?"

"Yes, please. On the belly would be best."

"Sure. Now, slave, hold still."

The doctor picked up a strange device, a small block with a handle, that she dictated some letters and numbers to. It morphed and the block took the shape of the letters, and then she approached me with it. When she pressed it into my belly, I felt a sharp stinging sensation, then wetness, then heat, and I had to breathe deeply to keep from pulling away.

I felt it touch my skin, and some chemical reaction took place there that made the letters take hold. The stamp left behind a short alpha-numeric code, 2XB49, then below it my first-name and Arabella's last name, so it read "Gregory J----" and not "Gregory E-----" like I'd expected. I had taken her name, but I tried not to read anything into that.

"Most men have their stamp on their bottom, Gregory, but I thought you might like to have yours really properly displayed for your stay with us. You should listen out for "2XB49," as people will use that as your name as well as the more standard wording beneath it. Come, let's go through to the legal department," said Arabella.

She strode ahead, leading me through the corridors on the leash, while my cock swung free and bare. The legal department was a series of small offices staffed by female clerks and stocky male slaves, there to keep an eye on the new arrivals in case of freak-outs. Arabella - my Mistress - and the clerk sat down and I stood. They talked over the terms of my slave-visa and discussed what my Mistress might want to use me for, then the clerk checked everything over and handed the male attendant a tablet.

He held it up to my eyeline, but the clerk was the one who spoke to me. "Read it all out, slave, then you will officially be allowed entry on your 3-month slave visa. If you do not consent, you may now indicate so, and you will then be assessed to ascertain if you were compos mentis when you entered the country. If so, you will still be enslaved, as you knew both a male's place in this society and what entering it meant. Read now, boy."

I drew a deep breath and began. "I, slave 2XB49, also known as Gregory J----, do hereby consent to become legally and properly a slave for a period of three months beginning on today's date. I consent to becoming the legal property of Arabella J----, licence number LK34AJ8912, and acknowledge her absolute authority subject to the limitations of my visa. I confirm I have read and understood the terms of my visa.

"I confirm I maintain the right to life and to avoid permanent injury, including permanent modification. I confirm I waive the right to clothing, the right to self-determination, the right to speech, and the right to control my own body. I confirm I waive the right to consent to any sexual activity as listed in the visa, with any gender. I confirm I waive all right to privacy.

"I confirm I am of sound mind and have carefully considered the implications of this oath. I consent to becoming a slave. I consent to becoming a slave. I consent to becoming a slave."

"Good boy," said the clerk. "Well, Arabella, he's all yours. Have fun you two."

"Thanks hon!" said Arabella. "OK, slaveboy, let's get you home."

************

I thought about the three months that lay ahead of me while we rode the monorail through the city towards the residential district where Arabella's family lived. The city largely passed me by - it looked the same as the one I'd lived in before, a mix of high-rise and high-tech with traditional and heritage buildings. Parks, squares, houses, shops - just a normal place.

"Slave? Were you listening?"

"Hmmm? Oh, erm, no, sorry Mistress," I replied.

"Well, I'll let it go this time. When we get to my family's house, my sister, mother and father will be there waiting for us. Quite possibly my sister's 'friend' too, if he hasn't annoyed her too much this week. Poor boy. But anyway, my mother will expect you to enter crawling and kiss her feet, and you should do the same to my sister. Not to my father: he's a slave like you, but if any other women are there kiss their feet too, yes?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Good boy. She'll probably - my mother I mean - insist on feeding you, so go along with that. My sister will probably test your limits, she likes to torment boys, but essentially do what she tells you unless I counter-order. She knows what's in your visa and she won't go over your limits."

"Of course, Mistress," I replied.

"Mother will expect you to be naked in the house at all times, to speak only when spoken to, and she'll probably spank you after she spanks father. I know you've been spanked by me and others before, but this will be different - she'll really mean it."

"OK, Mistress," I said.

We reached the house on foot a few minutes later - it was late in the day and the sun had set, so we made our way by the warm glow of the streetlights. The house was very attractive, brick-built with a small front garden. It was three storeys and had plenty of room, but the only part that looked out of place was the porch.

To keep a divide between inside-private space and outside-public space, all the houses had a completely private porch with frosted glass. Arabella led me into the little space, then she pointed at my shorts and clicked her fingers. With trembling hands I pulled the shorts down and handed them to her, then I dropped to my knees and waited for Arabella to make the next move.

She rapped on the door, then used her thumbprint to unlock it and entered. We entered into a carpeted hallway lined with family photographs. Doors opened onto different rooms of the house, and from the sitting room came the family. In front was Arabella's mother, a woman in her mid-fifties who looked just like her daughter: slim, redheaded and blue-eyed, wearing a blue dress. After her came her husband, quite naked, also in his mid-fifties with a medium build and a shaved head. His short, thick cock was caged, and he followed his owner-wife on a leash.

Behind them came Arabella's sister Letitia, who was a short, curvy nineteen year old girl with wavy brown hair that looked like her sister's (except the colour). She wore jean shorts and a pink strappy top, and she held the leash of a boy of the same age. He crawled after her, clearly her pet - he wore a pink PVC-looking bodysuit with black spots, and he had a tail and mitts. His cock was uncaged, long and hard, and he looked sheepish when he saw me.

Arabella's mother - her name was Francine - stopped in front of me and I kissed her feet as soon as I was able to crawl forward to where she was. I kissed them slowly, several times each, then I moved to Letitia and did the same to her. She giggled and wiggled her toes, but she let me kiss her feet several times and didn't pull away.

"Hello!" cried Arabella. They all hugged and kissed while I remained kneeling, not really knowing what to do. I figured I shouldn't stand - I hadn't been ordered to. As predicted, Francine had made food, and she led us through into the kitchen where she had laid things out on the table. Arabella sat down. I stayed kneeling.

"Where will he have his?" asked Francine.

"At the table, I think. No sense rushing him."

"Shame," said her sister, "he looks like he'd make a great pet, eating on the floor."

"Easy tiger," said Arabella with a laugh. "Anyway, I see you have someone I used to know as a pet already."

"Oh! Yes! This is Plum - I think you knew him as David - but he's not mine. I'm just helping train him for the experience, I don't actually own him. His mother sold him to a slave school and of course they found out straight away all about his pup-tendencies. Didn't they boy?"

He yipped.

"Hi Plum," said Arabella, "who's a good puppy? You do seem very pleased to see me."

"Oh, that? I've not let him cum in a week, he's a very horny boy. But he has to earn his orgasms, yes?" He yipped again. "Good boy!"

We ate and Arabella caught up with her family, who all sat round the table with us. I was asked a few questions - what I wanted from my three months with them, what experience I had, what I was expecting, what degree I'd done. Mostly I was just there as Arabella's slave. It was relaxing, to have so few expectations, to just be able to listen.

"So, Arabella, what are your plans for your gorgeous new slaveboy?" asked her sister after they'd finished catching up.

"Sex-slave, companion, servant: the usual really. He's pretty green so we're not doing anything out of the ordinary. Well, not to start with anyway. Why? You like him?"

"He's cute."

"Uh-huh. I think someone has a crush on my new piece of property."

"Like I said, he's cute. There's no harm in looking."

"Well, feel free to keep on... looking. For now."

We spent the evening with her family, in the sitting room, watching the screen and playing some games together. I got used to the feeling of being naked around them all - it helped that the father and the petmale were both quite naked too. A few times I saw Letitia looking at me and caught her eye. I was expecting her to look away, but instead she just grinned and winked.

That night I got my first taste of what sex as power really meant in that place. Arabella strapped me to a padded bench in the basement, with my face down and my bottom up in the air. While her mother and sister watched, she took me hard with her strapon until she screamed out a blistering orgasm and then lay down over my back to catch her breath.

Once she had withdrawn, she took out a cane and swished it through the air in front of me. I saw the look on her face - concerned but determined - and knew I was about to taste some real pain from her. I nodded, ever so slightly, and her expression relaxed a little. She walked behind me and I waited.

"OK, slave, here's how it's going to go. You've behaved well and have no trouble obeying female authority, but as your owner, it's my responsibility to make sure that you feel correctly humble and submissive at all times. That means you need to know discipline.I will give you ten strokes of the cane, then mother will, then Letitia will. Count each stroke and thank us for them."

"One, thank you Mistress!" I sang out the first time someone hit me.

"Two, thank you Mistress, three, thank you, Mistress..."

I kept going until I reached ten, then I heard them switching over.

"You will address me simply as "ma'am"," said Arabella's mother.

"One, thank you ma'am!" I cried out.

She hit especially hard and I felt my eyes start to water with the pain. I kept up the rhythm of thank-yous and when we hit ten she professed herself satisfied with my performance. She moved in front of me and kissed my cheek, then she stroked my hair and said "Good slave". I nodded an acknowledgement and she smiled at me.

"You will address me as "Miss Letitia"," said Arabella's sister

Before I had time to answer, she hit my bare backside with the cane and I had to say "One, thank you Miss Letitia," to her.

"Two, thank you Miss Letitia."

"I'll do far worse if you ever disobey."

"Three, thank you, Miss Letitia."

"I am the biggest believer in discipline out of the three of us."

"Four, thank you, Miss Letitia."

"Slave bottoms look best red and stripey."

"Five, thank you Miss Letitia."

She had nothing more to say to me before she finished, and I counted out her tenth stroke with enormous relief. She had hit me astonishingly hard, and when Letitia and her mother went back upstairs, Arabella applied some soothing ointment to my skin and rubbed it in. She let me down from the bench, and we went upstairs to bed.