Trained Up North

It has always been my belief that any man can change. But what I never realized was how quickly that can happen.

Some time ago- I've since picked up that it was exactly five weeks- I was just another warrior for the delta tribe. I hunted, I fought and I won honor for my clan. I even had the attentions of a woman named Mona. A gentle creature, Mona was pure, delicate, demure, and, in her own homely way, wise; she was quintessentially feminine.

Thirty-five days later, I found myself longing for such companionship. For, in that time, I had undergone the most surreal sequence of events in my life. I had been captured, imprisoned, then coerced to pleasure a woman for food.

When I was finally released, I found myself in a nation called the Snefolk Empire. I lived in the house of a female soldier named Joan, but whom I am required to call Mistress. Mistress did not permit me to leave the house, but, in absence of new stimulation, my hunterly observation skills sharpened even further. Mistress's conditioning had been such that she was my entire world. Her mood determined mine. Her decisions dictated my life. Her need for something was my need to get it for her.

More importantly, her idle comments became my gossip. Her conversations were my mythology. From them, I learned several things about the Snefolk Empire. First, I learned that Mistress' nature is no fluke. By law, Snefolkans are owned by their women. Males are conditioned to be subservient and women are conditioned to lead them with iron fists. As far I was concerned, the women of Snefolk were not true women- simply men of a different sex.

I would be remiss, however, not to admit that they were at least effective in the role. On the fateful day of my capture, her nation proved vastly more than a match for mine.

* * *

On the morning of one normal day- August second, if my counting is correct- I woke up to the sensation of vibration on my genitals. The vibration was not the sort of soft but firm pulsing one might expect from a vibrator used by slaveless Snefolk women. Instead, it was a heavy tingling that more closely resembled a shock than a massage.

Of course, it still got me hard.

Rousing myself from my cheap bed, I saw two things. The first was the time- 6:30 AM- projected onto the wall opposite me. The second thing I saw was my reflection.

The mirror was the only other object in my tiny, sparse bedroom. Since the day I arrived at her house, Mistress had used my reflection to remind me who I was.

More than a month ago, I had been a warrior. Now, I was equal parts appliance, decoration and sex toy. Mistress had dyed my brown hair red and had me apply a subtle makeup that accentuated my soft brown eyes. Around my thick neck hung a stiff metal collar with a ring for a leash. My only other garment was a loincloth, which consisted of an elastic waistband from which hung an obfuscating series of steamers. When I stood still, these hid my penis from view, but, when I walked, they provided occasional glimpses at it, which women seemed to enjoy more than seeing actual nudity.

Leaving my room, I set myself to work. Mistress had told me the previous night what she wanted for breakfast. Using her advanced cooking utensils, which I was still learning the nuances of, I prepared her breakfast, then cobbled together her lunch, running low on time as I did. Halfway through preparing a beef, bacon and cheese sandwich just the way she liked it, I ran out of time; all at once, the clocks turned to seven.

With a nervous deglutition, I abandoned my work and skulked into Mistress' room, where, as on every morning, I gently pulled off her thick bed sheets and placed a hand on her cold shoulder.

"Mistress?" I cooed. "It is morning, Mistress."

No reply.

With a sigh, I recalled what I was supposed to do next. I pulled the blankets all the way off of her body, then slipped off her loose pajama pants and brought my head down. Salivating for a moment, I moistened my tongue, then swallowed and licked her womanhood slowly and deliberately. As always, Mistress was warm, but she was wetter than she had been in weeks; it was clear that she had been dreaming sexual dreams.

Mistress still did not awaken. As per protocol, I continued my work, accelerating my licking and changing the angle of my tongue, straining each time to force my way as far into her resistant lips as I could, then touching her clitoris as I pulled my tongue back in.

Finally, after six strokes, Mistress let out a moan, then convulsed slightly before sitting up.

"It is morning, Mistress," I repeated.

Cantankerously, Mistress shoved me aside as she pulled up her pajama pants and shuffled over to her wardrobe, where she drew out an outfit and threw it to me. As soon as she stood still in the middle of the room, I got to work, slipping down her pajama pants, then threading her panties around each foot and pulling them up before doing the same with her pants, then swiveling in front of her and stripping off her top, quickly looping her bra over her shapely bust and clipping it, then slipping on her shirt.

Unceremoniously, Mistress lurched out into the kitchen, where she sat down and started on her still-warm breakfast. She snapped her fingers once. Heeding this, I stood at attention by her side.

"Where's my sandwich?" she mumbled, in a voice that indicated she was only half-awake.

"I did not have the time to finish it, Mistress," I truthfully explained.

A slap resounded on right butt cheek, nearly causing me to lose my balance and eliciting a startled grunt from me.

"Finish it," she grouchily ordered.

"Yes, Mistress."

Hastily, I completed her sandwich and packed it with the rest of her lunch, then returned to my post at her side as she finished her meal. As soon as she stood up, I dutifully picked up her plates, only to be jerked back as I felt my collar stop.

"Leave those for now," she ordered, palming her eyes with her other hand. "Get in bed."

"Yes, Mistress," I complied.

Back in Mistress' room, I crawled into her bed and lay down on my back, grabbing the two posts on the headboard with my hands and spreading my legs. When I did, the streamers of my loincloth parted, giving Mistress an unobstructed view of my manhood as, obediently, it rose for her.

Businesslike, Mistress pulled a quartet of cheap cuffs out of a drawer at the bottom of her wardrobe and clamped each one around one limb, stretching me over the bed. Then, after stripping, she crawled onto the bed, aligned herself and collapsed onto my waiting shaft, sending a pulse of sudden vitality through me.

Slowly, Mistress improved her focus as she threw herself off and back onto me, moaning lightly as she did, then accelerating and closing her eyes.

She was fully awake at last.

Eventually, Mistress rose an octave and clutched my shoulders as she came, some of her saliva dripping onto me, before she paused her furious pumping. Then, after catching her breath, she started again, causing my masculinity to swell, then burst. I panted and all of my senses abandoned me as, for the first time in several days, I came.

I spent a few minutes in a blurry haze, exhausted from bearing the brunt of her feminine vigor.

When all of the blood came back to my head, more of Mistress' juices were spilled onto my lower torso. The familiar, malleable restriction of a ball gag held my mouth open.

Hurriedly, Mistress stumbled out of the adjacent shower room, dressing.

"Maybe next time you'll finish my lunch on time," she spat, as she closed the door behind her, leaving me bound.

I rested my head on the pillow. This would be a long day.

* * *

Approximately six hours later, I heard the front door slide open. Mistress' footsteps- and I could tell it was Mistress- were equal parts imperious and frenzied. To my surprise, she attended to me first; she strode into her room first and began to untie me.

When she unstrapped my ball gag, my first thought was to ask her what occasioned such attention to me. Overriding this, however, was my first instinct to close my jaw tight, finally relaxing my sore muscles.

Before I could give the matter any further thought, Mistress leashed me and pulled me into the bathroom, where she shoved me into the shower and turned on the tap, not even registering her usual smile as I shivered under the initial frigidity of the water.

"Clean yourself off," she ordered, closing the shower curtain. "I have something to set up."

"Yes, Mistress."

Using the soap and conditioner, I washed my hair the way I had learned to. Then, taking the bar of soap, I rubbed my entire body down. I did so with the kind of gyrations and writhing that Mistress found most pleasurable to watch, despite her not being there. Habit is a powerful force.

Once I finished cleaning myself, I stepped out of the shower and shivered, seeing a towel on the wall. As I reached for it, however, I realized that my instructions were to clean myself off, not to get dressed. For several minutes, I waited, shivering and hissing through chattering teeth until Mistress finally arrived and toweled me off, the warm touch of her hand coming like life-giving rays.

Once finished, Mistress led me out of the room, leaving my loincloth on the bathroom floor, and stood me up straight in the living room in front of a large plastic purple screen.

"Hold still," she ordered, standing a short distance away from me and aiming some handheld contraption at me. After a barely audible click, she lowered the device.

"Go make dinner," she then matter-of-factly ordered. "Breaded chicken with cider. Go."

Scuttling off to the kitchen, I resigned myself to cooking in the nude again and idly wondered what Mistress was up to as I prepared her meal. During my few idle moments, I stole glances back at her, seeing her hunched over a screen positioned at her desk, hard at work, never even stopping to glance at my uncovered form. Her business must have been serious indeed, I realized.

Once dinner was ready, I informed Mistress and dutifully waited by the side of the table. All while she ate, Mistress slung me smug, knowing looks. With just a flash of dread and more than a sheen of arousal, I figured that I would soon find out what she found so amusing.

After dinner, I did not see Mistress for the rest of that day. I did not find it odd that she did not want sex; I only served in her bed four times a week at most, and never twice in one day. However, I had the acute sense that Mistress would not have wanted sex, even if had not already satisfied her that morning. By dint of my instincts outpacing my analytical skills, however, I could not decipher why I felt this way.

The next morning, this question was answered for me.

I got up at my usual time, only to find Mistress awake before I was, suiting up in her military uniform.

I opened my mouth to register some reaction, then remembered the rules of speech just in time. I remained silent.

"Good morning, Silk," she greeted, addressing me by the slave name she had assigned me, but seldom used. "I'm shipping out soon. I'll be gone for a few months. In the meantime, I've arranged to keep you busy and make some money off you. Someone will be around here in a few hours to take you away. Do what she says."

"Of course, Mistress," I assured.

Mistress looked fondly over to me, her lustful eyes lingering on my hips and abdomen.

"I'm going to miss you," she said, more to herself than to me.

When Mistress left, I began cleaning the house the way I always did, but with that strangely arousing sense of foreboding hanging over me. Faintly, I recalled feeling similar when I was about to begin my tribal rite of manhood, back home at the delta.

Those memories already seemed so distant.

A few hours later, the beep of the doorbell finally came. With quaking hands, I walked over to the door of the apartment and opened it up to a short, lean woman with blonde hair tied in a bun behind her head and a thin but strangely sweet face.

"Yes, ma'am?" I addressed.

Mistress had never made it clear how I was to address other females; 'ma'am' seemed logical.

"Where is your leash?" the woman asked.

"In a chest in the back room, ma'am," I divulged. "Should I retrieve it?"

"Yes," she answered. "Clip it onto your collar and hand it to me."

As I skipped quickly off to obey, my heart raced- I was going to leave the house at last. I wondered what the weather would be like as the woman took my leash and led me out the doors, then out into the streets.

Incredibly, the weather was not much different. Piles of snow still gathered in the shadowy corners and a stiff wind blew, causing my manhood to shrivel, saving precious warmth but depriving nearby women of the view.

The sky above was a beautiful cerulean, spotted with crystalline clouds and penetrated wholly by the low, distant sun, which shone straight down the road, throwing shadows of my handler and me before us.

Eventually, we entered a different building, which had two consecutive doors, neither open at the same time- to keep out the cold, I presumed.

Inside, this place looked nothing like Mistress' home, or, for that matter, the place where I was kept before then. A neon pink bar wrapped all around the ceiling, while the slick, shiny, consistent walls were pockmarked with doors, most of them labeled with some ostentatious sign with text I could not read. In the wide room that the hall opened up to, the floor was covered with a plush, smooth mat.

Just beside the entryway was a desk where, incredibly, a male stood at a computer terminal. He had a collar similar to mine, but he carried his head high and looked my handler straight in the eye when we approached.

"Yes?" he flatly prompted, audaciously forgoing the 'ma'am' title.

"I'd like to sign up this boy," she volunteered, jiggling me by the collar indicatively.

"License?" requested the receptionist.

My handler gave him a paper.

"Measurements?"

"I don't have them."

The receptionist glared at her for one long moment. I cringed, expecting my handler to reach over and slap him for his insolence, or pull out a stinger and shock him, or perhaps bend him over the desk and spank him. Instead, she merely stood and waited.

"I'm taking him to the measuring room," the receptionist announced.

He turned to his side and cupped one hand over his mouth.

"Vladimir?"

In short order, a small, black-haired boy with shining blue eyes shuffled out from one of the doors with a small, unadorned sign. He wore a collar, but no leash.

With just a hand signal from the receptionist, Vladimir approached me, and, to my continuing shock, grabbed my leash and led me by it.

As I followed him, I looked back to my handler, expecting her to punish my new leader for his indiscretion somehow, only to see her placidly following me, not seeming to find anything strange about a man holding my leash.

The next room contained a wall which was painted with concentric black and white rings, almost like a dartboard, except that the rings were labeled with what I recognized as distance measurements. Centered around the dot in the middle of the rings, a series of straps embedded in the wall beckoned to me. Despite the whirlwind of emotions all this newness had caused me, I found myself hardening. If the straps were any indication, I would soon be bound; if my training had taught me anything, it was that bondage meant sex.

It felt strange to have a male hand grab my wrist and strap it to the wall, and I felt even stranger as he curled his arms around my loincloth and pulled it down.

"Seventy-five," he listed in an accent that was at the same time nasally and guttural. "Thirty-four, twenty-eight and... thirty-six."

When his fingers wrapped around my cock, I cringed; Mistress had never been gentle with it. Vladimir, luckily, knew better. Very gently, he stroked it, then bounced it quickly up and down on the tip of his fingers, before finally nodding and picking up a measuring chord, stretching it next to my now fully-erect member.

"Five," he called out, before wrapping the chord tightly around my organ at its thickest and scrutinizing the measurement, bringing his face uncomfortably close, before pulling away.

"Seven," he nonchalantly listed.

I heard the sound of fingers tapping on a touch screen and looked up.

"Here you go," offered Vladimir, giving my handler a tablet. "That's our information. Contact us if you need anything."

With that, my handler nodded and left, leaving me with Vladimir. As soon as she shut the door, I glanced at him, unsure what to make of him.

"I don't bite," he assured, with a smile. "Let me get you out of there."

"Where- where am I?" I finally mustered the courage to ask.

"Your mistress didn't tell you?" Vladimir deduced, freeing me. "Why, you're in the city's biggest dom brothel!"

I stared at Vladimir, who returned me with a look of earnestness.

"Men have no rights in this city," Vladimir reminded me. "But submissive women need to get their rocks off somehow. This is the compromise. They pay money to come here, and we make them our bitches for an hour."

"What?" I reacted, overloaded. "Wait, back up... are there women in this city who actually act like women?"

Vladimir stared at me for a moment, confused.

"Ah, you're from the southeastern archipelago, aren't you?"

I shrugged.

"I recognize the accent," Vladimir affirmed. "You are. The last boy we had here from there said that all southeastern girls are submissive. That's an anomaly. Elsewhere, it's a more even mix. In fact, I'd be surprised if all those girls were really that submissive. I bet some of them would jump at the chance to dominate their men."

"My Mona is not dominant!" I quickly defended.

"I didn't say that," Vladimir desisted. "But I recommend you stop calling her yours. I hate to tell you this, but I doubt you will ever see her again."

For the first time, I thought on this, unsure what to make of it.

"Anyway," Vladimir segued "Come, I'll show you around."

"I take it we aren't in business?" I deduced.

"Not now," Vladimir confirmed, "but it's Friday. Just wait until evening. We'll be ankle deep in bitches."

"How do I prepare?"

"Well," Vladimir prompted, walking up to the receptionist's desk. "First, you need a picture."

As he said this, he indicated a row of identically framed pictures, each showing a nude man posing gratuitously. I saw a tall, muscular man holding a riding crop stretched between his hands, leering down at the camera, which was about level with his knees. The only reminder of his disenfranchised status remained the slave collar around his neck, which somehow did not make him look any less powerful.

Another picture showed a thin, blue-haired boy who posed dynamically, his bullwhip dancing through the air around him, his slender, bare feet and hands showing athleticism.

A third picture had a small, black-haired one who looked no older than thirty. This boy reclined on a couch, grinning lasciviously at the camera while holding up a leather collar with one finger.

With a double-take, I realized that that last one was Vladimir.

"You're a dominant?" I asked. "I thought you were just an assistant."

"I am when it's slow," Vladimir admitted. "But I moonlight as a dominant- we call ourselves doms, by way. I started domming when a girl saw me delivering fresh batteries to Emilio here, and wanted me on top of her. The madame allowed it, so I did. Later, I got a good review from the girl, and I've been working as a dom ever since."

"That's impressive," I complimented.

"Thanks," Vladimir accepted. "Now, how will you make your entrance?"

"I... I have no idea," I admitted.

"Yes you do," Vladimir disagreed, in an almost teasing tone of voice. "Rookies are always like this. Always letting other people make their decisions. Don't tell me you haven't had at least some fantasies of what you'd do to your mistress if you had her on a leash."