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Don’t know if this would be considered out-of-bounds. I don't have a "switch" side though. It’s more about an imagined society with a strict Female Supremacy hierarchy in which even a female slave is Lord to any male. FS to me is never about man-hating. It is an instinct I’ve always had that women are just closer to the tuning fork of the universe, inherently wiser, and stronger in the ways that matter. But in this scenario, enforcement can be a bit… rigid. A note for casual passers by. There are some violations of "consent" here. It's a fantasy. Your consent is sacrosanct in this establishment, so don't take anything too seriously. ***** Part 1. Things were off to a very ominous start. Communications were what you'd call "clipped." I hadn’t visited for a while and didn’t grok that this absence might have become an “issue.” "You'll arrive Saturday at 7 sharp." Um, how long are we talking about? "7pm sharp. Don’t make plans.” Do I bring anything or wear anything? "You’re a whore. Dress like one.” Click. Whore? Under the circumstances, I thought it would be wise to keep one chastity key at home in case the tone I was picking up was more than a passing thing and involved key confiscation. I arrived on the dot and was led to the bathroom and unceremoniously pushed toward the door. “Get dressed. 2 minutes.” “Dressed” in Her view meant full slut regalia, slave collar, leashes on chastity device and collar, remote controlled plug inserted, and a street-walking layer of red lipstick. It was not conceivable to do all that in 2 minutes, but I knew better than to say so given the overall tension in the air. I emerged about 7 minutes later and dutifully handed Her the 2 leashes, the remote control for the plug, and 2 (of 3…) keys to my chastity device. “Do you not know how long 2 minutes is?” She tapped her leg with a riding crop menacingly. I looked down as submissively as I knew how and said nothing. This was definitely not the time to offer anything cute or defensive on my behalf. “Face the wall.” There was a sharp tug on the leash to my chastity device. “Spread ‘em.” It was the perp position, and soon was augmented with police cuffs. A chain was run down from the back of the slave collar to hoist my hands so they could not reach lower than the small of the back. “Can you protect your ass this way?” I don’t think so… “Try.” She brought the crop down hard. This was … highly motivating. I strained to lower my hands to stop the next blow. And failed. The crop landed twice more and echoed in the hallway. “Excellent!” The defenselessness pleased Her. I tried a different tack. Mistress, I have an event coming up this week. So, I wanted to ask not to be marked… too much. I added the ‘too much’ because the first 3 stripes with the crop would definitely last for days. She grabbed a handful of my hair and snapped my head back to speak directly into my ear. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before?” She marched me down the hall by the 2 leashes to a locked room. “Kneel, bitch.” She felt my balls for ‘fullness.’ I shudder to think what would have happened if they weren’t full to Her satisfaction, indicating unacceptable sluttiness. Thinking we might be turning a corner in the tension department thanks to my not “cheating” in chastity, I tried a little further self-promotion. I shaved too, Mistress. I was in fact, completely bare under and all around the chastity device. But this did not impress. “Why did you need to shave? You aren’t allowed to have hair on your clit - ever.” I went back to plan A – looking down silently. She removed my lock and threw it in the trash along with my keys. She replaced it with a new lock with a shiny red key. So much for my clever idea of leaving a key at home. “Open.” A pink rubber ball was stuffed in my mouth. A blindfold followed. Suddenly the elevator felt incredibly far away in another world. Finally, She relented. Slightly. “You have forgotten your place in the world. Today, you will remember. Make me proud, little slut.” Speaking being precluded by the ball in my mouth, I nodded vigorously. That there was a path, however thorny, back to making Her proud was a distant spot of light in the enveloping darkness. She fastened my slave collar to the bottom of the rack against the wall. The leash on my chastity device was pulled between my legs, over my butt-plug and up to an upper rung on the rack. These 2 maneuvers left me with my face on the floor and my ass in the air. I sensed a flash through the blindfold and heard the click of a digital camera. “I’m sending your picture to Someone. She is your only chance at redemption. Understand?” I nodded as well as I could in my predicament, though the thought of the Someone only seeing/knowing me as a bound, gagged, plugged, chastised harlot with my welted ass in the air was unnerving. “Good girl.” She left. Part 2. After 15 minutes or 4 hours – whatever it was – I felt the jolt of the remote-controlled plug being switched on through the walls. She was returning. I heard a brief scuffle at the door and another woman’s voice. “No, Master, please. Not in front of her.” “Quiet, slave!” There was a slap of flesh. I guessed it was the crop again. The female slave fell silent. I was the “her” She’d referred to. About that…. When I first came to study Their secret society as an anthropological curiosity several months ago, I’d asked if there was any place for males in it. “Of course, pet. But you don’t seriously think you would be one of them, do you?” She laughed at the silliness of it, and continued the thought. “The weak-minded will be brainwashed and feminized. No exceptions. It will be better for your research.” I took offense to the “weak-minded” reference and the implied ease of brainwashing me. But here I am today on my knees in a pink corset and stockings with a foreign lock between my legs…. But, I digress. So, meanwhile, back in the present…. The female slave was led to the frame and shackled to it facing the wall. Her legs were spread so that a spiked heel was under my nose where my collar was fastened. The Mistress released my collar so I could kneel in an upright position. She removed my gag and blindfold as well. She introduced the bound Slave. I did not qualify to be introduced to anyone. “This is my Slave. Slave I. Say hello to Her, whore.” Hello, slave I. Her slap was immediate and resounding, leaving a red handprint on my cheek despite her latex glove. “You will never refer to any woman as ‘Slave’. Including Slaves. You will refer to all women as Mistress or Master.” It took a moment for my head to clear from the slap. Hello, Mistress I. I'm sorry if I was rude. She hissed. “Don’t look at me, bitch.” Clearly, submitting in front of me infuriated the Slave. I looked away immediately, but the Mistress lifted my chin so my eyes were on the spectacular thong-parted ass of the Slave. The Mistress asked her Slave if She 'needed' the crop again. “No, Master.” She was quiet again. The Mistress addressed me. “You will pay a high price for witnessing this spectacle, whore. The highest in fact” Yes, Mistress... I hadn’t chosen to see ‘this spectacle.’ But it was not my place to choose spectacles. Suggesting that it was would have been considered extreme defiance. “Kiss Her foot. Worship it. Kiss your way up Her stockings…” I’ll pause here to add something. The Slave was an absolute Goddess. And, to avoid severe consequences, I had been in chastity a week. My brain was melting…. “Now, kiss Her ass. Kiss my Slave’s ass.” She leaned down and whispered. “You’re worshiping a Slave’s ass. What does that make you, whore?” It was rhetorical. I was whatever She said I was. But I noticed there was no angry welt on the ass I was worshiping. Unlike mine… She freed the Slave from the frame momentarily, spun her around, and restrained her again, facing forward this time. I now saw that the Slave was wearing a strap-on. And, god, She was gorgeous. I couldn’t process it. Everything about Her exuded dominance. We were not peers. But we were both at the mercy of the Mistress. For now. “You know what to do, whore. Suck my Slave’s cock. My Slave wants to cum down your throat. It will be good practice for swallowing your own cum later.” I abandoned myself to the task. Trying to understand always got me in trouble. So I didn’t. “Good girl. Cover it with lipstick. Your lipstick might be all the lube you will be getting from Her.” From Her? But She increased the vibration on the remote-controlled plug and spoke in that hypnotic voice. “You’re sucking Slave cock. You love Slave cock. You need Slave cock. You are the lowest of all whores. A Slave fluffer. A slave to Slaves.” I tried to remember my haughty dismissal of Her casual assurance that I would be easily brainwashed. So long ago and so far away…. Meanwhile, She deepened her mind-control over me. “Stop!” She pulled on the leash between my legs. “What is this?” She pointed with her crop. The ‘this’ was me bulging out of the chastity device as her “Slave cock” mantra was filling my ears. “You got aroused at the sight of a Goddess in bondage? You, the lowest of all whores?” I apologized, but knew the consequences were already set. “That will be 25 with the crop.” “Fifty,” the Slave amended Her. This time the Mistress did not silence Her. The wheel was beginning to turn. “It is Her decision, whore. In fact from now on, everything is Her decision.” Everything? I looked up at Her face for the first time. And there, hanging in the triangle of her cleavage was the shiny red key. The one for the lock I was wearing. For the final time, the Mistress released Her from bondage. Together, they fastened me to the rack. The former Slave pulled the gag into my mouth and spoke softly in my ear. “Fifty. Make me proud, little slut.” Yeth, Mithtress, I slobbered through the gag. She grabbed my hair and jerked my head to Her lips. “It’s 'Master' to you, slave.” She waved the red key in my face for emphasis.

A little story about a great change. If nothing else, a temporary distraction from the other change that is going on. ***** He no longer knew what day it was. Between the intensity of the experiences and the way they manipulated light and dark, his circadian rhythm had evaporated. Sounds pumped into his headphones suggested morning, night, city, country, an opera, then death metal, then a gentle voice urging him to relax, accept his fate, and submit to his superiors. Then silence, then new sounds, then low light, intense light, flashing light, dark. Presently he was blindfolded with a gag that made him drool. He was bent over some padded frame and strapped to it at the wrists ankles and across his back. He went in and out of dreams indistinguishable from reality. The headphones fell silent. He felt a gloved hand remove his gag and wipe a cloth across his mouth where the drool continued spilling. "What day is it, 114?" He wasn't sure until then if the name "114" was part of a dream. But he recalled that delayed answers were dealt with swiftly, so he croaked, "I don't know." "Good boy. The day is not your concern. But as it happens, this is a special day for you. It's your birthday." A clue! But no, he couldn't have been there that long. The last date he could remember clearly was early January. Or late January? But January sometime. She watched this debate playing out in furrows on his brow and brought her lips down to his ear. "What did I tell you about thinking? It will only confuse you here. Your thinking has been done for you." She removed his blindfold. In his present condition he couldn't raise his head to look at her. His gaze stopped at the latex dress that barely reached to her thighs, a sight that abruptly reminded that he was locked in chastity and had been since early-, mid- or late-January, a fact that she intentionally worsened with some sort of unseen feather behind him. "...Of course it can't be your birthday until you officially begin your new life. That is to say - legally begin your new life..." Legally? How could any of this ever be 'legal'? He could still remember this slender, stunning woman telling him that a decision had been made about his 'treatment' and he would be remaining indefinitely. He had said "whatever is wrong with me, nothing like that is going to happen," and made to leave. In two swift, deft movements, despite his marked size advantage, she had put him on his back. She smiled at him. "You're ready now. I'm sure you'll do better this time." Damn right, he had thought. But he again found himself landing hard on the floor, and this time the lights went out. He woke up naked in metal restraints in a room bathed in red light. The ordeal of light and sound was beginning. He had gone through phases. "You can't do this to me." "You are breaking every law in the book." "Why are you doing this to me?" "Please stop." "I'll give you whatever you want." "I promise not to tell anyone." "What do you want?" "Please let me go." "Please, I can't remember myself." "Please...." And finally now, when he didn't know what day it was. She continued. "Yes, legally. Slavery is presently illegal. Quite a quandary for little girls like you who were born for it. Obviously we don't want you to wait until the laws catch up with your condition. What kind of doctors would that make us - to ignore the obvious anxiety that pretending to be equal causes you. Poor little 114..." In the mirrors he could see that S114 had indeed been tattooed on his ass. Were they skipping numbers? Had they really kidnapped 113 other patients? She brought a crop down on his ass hard. "Do not let your mind wander when a woman is addressing you, boy. Do we need a few more days of lights and sounds?" No, no, please, no, I'm listening, I'm listening. She held a control in front of him and pressed one of the buttons. He felt warmth spreading in his ass. "Mmmm, that's good isn't it. Such a little slut." She pressed another button and waves pulsed through him. Another button sent spokes of light. The pleasure was both exquisite and deeply troubling. What had he become? "What a dirty little whore we have. Naturally, you can't be returned to your past life, a wanton little cunt like you. Would you try to touch your clit right now if it weren't locked up? Tell the truth." Yes.... "Even if I told you I would make you eat every drop?" She grabbed his hair to make him look at her face. Yes.... "Then we can't unlock it, can we?" She turned off the machine. "You see the dilemma now. A slave and his Master in a dark time when slavery is outlawed. What is a Mistress to do?" He knew this was rhetorical. She had already found the answer to that question at least 113 times. She took a folder down from the shelf. It had been there all along. He remembered seeing it weeks or months or days or hours ago. She showed it to him. There were two blank pages with a place to sign at the bottom of each. "This," she said, "Is your confession. You agree that all the above statements are true, that you have done or hoped to do everything listed. You will sign and date at the bottom." But there are no statements..? She ignored him and continued. "This - is your patient agreement. In light of the deep depravity outlined in your confession and your complete inability to control the many perverse impulses that will be listed, you give complete control and authority to me - sexual, psychological, physical control. You do what I say, think what I tell you to think, wear what I tell you to wear, perform any act I tell you to perform. You even agree that I may assign your gender as I determine." He was involuntarily blinking as she pulled the noose tighter. "And here is my favorite part - you agree that you have consented freely under no duress to this radical, irrevocable transfer of power - to me, your Goddess." His head slumped to the table. "Yes, it's over now. No more useless struggles, no more denying your natural position at the bottom of the true social order, no more wondering why things don't quite make sense and why you don't quite fit. Sign the papers and be reborn, birthday boy - or girl. That, too, is for your Mistress to decide." As she knew, as she had seen 113 other times, he couldn't sign - yet. The totality of meaning was too much. She wasn't angry. She eased the gag back into his mouth and pulled it tight. She replaced the blindfold. "Raise 2 fingers when you are ready to surrender to me and I will free your right hand and give you a pen. Until then..." She re-situated the headphones. Mozart's "Sleep Safely" aria, a role reversal in which the heroine rescues the male in distress. The pulsing spikes resumed in his ass, followed by the crash of the whip. It was only a matter of time.