Survival In The Gynarchy Ch. 01

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This is a work of fiction, set in an imaginary future world dominated by women ("femme"). Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. All characters are at least 18 years of age. Reminder: This work is copyrighted under U. S. law and in accordance with the terms of submission to literotica. com.

This story series is dedicated to Ms. DorineHighcoven, in appreciation for her brilliant series "Altered Genesis".

A few additional comments, to help orient the reader --

1. You can look at this futuristic world as "utopian" or "dystopian" or neither, depending on your point of view. I make no judgments, and push no agendas. The story is intended to be erotic fiction, especially enjoyable by readers with certain interests . The main interests are indicated in the story tags. If these things do not appeal to you, please pass by.

2. In this type of fiction, I guess it is theoretically desirable for the author to maintain a certain balance between literary quality (such as development of plot and character) , and "steamy" explicit sex scenes. I must confess that I am weak at the former, and have tilted the balance somewhat toward the latter.

3. In futuristic fiction, it is necessary for the author to spend some time describing how the future world works ("world building"). For the reader anxious to sample the sex scenes, this may seem tedious. (I say this from my own experience as a reader.) However, in this case the sex scenes will lose much of their vitality if the reader does not understand the social context in which they occur. For similar reasons, I also believe it is important for me to describe enough of this future world to make it seem convincing. (In other words, to convince you that although none of this may happen in the immediate future, it COULD happen at some time.) Be patient, and you will be rewarded with sex scenes.

With all that said, let us now enter the world of the U. S. A. (United States of Amazonia), in the year 2231.

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Bobby Henley was about to become a "fallen angel".

Now two years past graduation from the Male Boarding School, he had been unable to get a position as a concubine, or even a serf, in a mistress's household.

In the Gynarchy, almost all femme kept a harem of serfs, and many kept a smaller harem of concubines as well. The position of "husband" had been abolished.

The duties of a serf typically included yard work, home repair or maintenance, food preparation and serving, and of course, serving the Mistress sexually on demand. A concubine, in addition to sexual service on demand, typically provided some companionship to the Mistress - only to the point desired by the Mistress, of course. Mistresses sometimes chatted with their concubines. The only time a serf ever heard his Mistress's voice was when she was barking commands.

Bobby's failure to obtain such a domestic position was not because he was unattractive. Actually, in his society there were really no unattractive males. That was because all the males were genetically engineered.

Bobby was about 5 feet 6 inches in height, with brown hair and blue eyes. His face was pleasingly symmetrical, as was his body. His face had gentle features, and his ass had been designed to be rather shapely - not quite feminine, but with some interesting curves to it. His dick and balls were in proportion to his overall body size and shape; so they were neither particularly large nor particularly small. For their working prototype, the engineers had used a statue called "David" by one of the ancient sculptors. Bobby's body looked very much like that statue, with these four differences: his arms were a bit shorter, his ass and hips were a touch wider, his shoulders, while still angling up to be wider than his hips, were not quite as broad; and his dick and balls were large enough to bring them into proportion.

Incidentally, back in history, his type of looks had not always been the most preferred type for women. In past centuries, many women had preferred taller, "hulkier" or "hunkier' types -- male strippers in fireman hats, and so forth. But that had changed. As the gynarchical society had gradually progressed away from male-dominant indoctrination, femme had realized that those preferences were vestiges of a semi-conscious desire to seek protection by the so-called "stronger" gender. And also, that a subconscious desire to be dominated by a male had been part of that mental package. But in a society where the femme ruled, and males needed their protection, women's tastes in males had changed accordingly.

Then too, femme had become generally taller and larger. When a femme felt like slapping a male around or pushing him to his knees between her legs, a smaller male seemed a more appropriate choice. And as for the genital equipment, femme very rarely had any use for dicks anyway - except maybe to fondle one once in a while, or to watch a stripper put on a masturbation show. A male's ass and tongue were his vital parts.

But to return to Bobby's situation -- his problem was not looks, per se. It was a combination of competition, and social class.

The same technology that ensured males would be attractive, also assured an abundance of them. In the U. S. A. approximately ten males were produced for every female.

Also -- while males were beneath any social classification -- there was a stratified hierarchy of class among femme. Economically, none of the femme were below what had historically been upper middle class affluence, yet the lower-level managers were a world apart from the uber-rich billionaire oligarchy. Keeping a harem is expensive. As a result, while a middle-class femme might typically afford, say, two concubines and three or four serfs, for the true upper classes those numbers might run into the thousands (mainly serfs). The number depended on the whims of the mistresses.

The upshot of this is that the lion's share of the household positions went to the upper class mistresses. And the upper class mistresses generally gave preference to applicants from their own social class. Acquiring concubines with a good lineage was a mark of status, and reducing males of good lineage to serfdom was a delightful conquest and proof of power. With all the competition, Bobby's family bloodlines had not been good enough.

Truth be told, Bobby was not really sure that he wanted a domestic position anyway, at least not yet. Before getting so tied down, he thought it might be nice to have some interesting experiences, including sexual experiences.

However, whether by preference or perforce, this left him with an uncomfortable dilemma: homelessness -- or prostitution.

In the Gynarchy there were no almost no legal jobs for younger males, other than prostitution. (One exception was an office secretary or "personal assistant" to a femme manager, but there were not enough of those positions to go around. Word was that you had to "know somebody" to get one.)

All of the high paying and powerful positions, of course, were reserved for femme. The lower paid, more subservient tier of jobs -- things like waiting tables, retail clothing sales, customer service, and factory work -- were reserved for males deemed too old for sex work. This situation was no accident. The femme in the Gynarchy were pumped up on power and supremacy. They had voracious sexual appetites and an endless lust for variety. They had designed a society in which there would always be an abundant supply of whores.

This arrangement was for the accommodation of all femme if desired, but for several reasons, it was especially utilized by the older ones. If a younger femme wanted a one-night stand, she could always find a willing male for free; then too, as femme rose in the ranks with age, they tended to have more spending money. And it seemed that there was just something about the combination of age and wealth that made a femme feel -- well, more predatory. Each hook-up with a young whore provided a new thrill of adventure and conquest. The older femme of the Gynarchy were entertained by their concubines and pleased by their serfs, but they also craved their whores.

In past times, a young male like Bobby might have been able to delay facing his dilemma, or possibly even avoid it, by "living at home" (which in this case would have meant in living in his mother's household). But in the Gynarchy, that was not an option.

For one thing, it was illegal - the main purpose of the law, of course, being to enforce the economic pressure just described. But in any case, because of the Gynarchy's social institutions, mothers had no emotional bonds with their sons. In most cases they had never met them. They approved of the law by overwhelming margins.

Indeed, few mothers had any desire to have a son in the first place. Only daughters could ever attain financial success or positions of power. Therefore only daughters could improve the financial security, power or prestige of the family, and bring honor to the matriarchal bloodline. Mothers had high hopes for their daughters. Daughters were welcomed and loved. Sons would be merely a nuisance.

In the patriarchy of ancient Greece, daughters had been similarly unwelcome. Many of them had been killed at birth by leaving them on a mountainside exposed to the elements. However, in the Gynarchy, if a femme wanted to avoid having sons, no such brutality was necessary. The genetic engineers could assign gender to an embryo.

The problem then became a social one. If no one had a son, what about society's need for males in the aggregate? First of all, a cadre of males was needed for sperm production. (Parthenogenesis was illegal; mixing of genes was considered beneficial for various reasons.) Beyond that, males were needed to fill all the subservient and otherwise undesirable jobs in the economy. And beyond that were the sexual considerations, as previously suggested. It was generally agreed that some form of legal compulsion to produce males would be necessary.

If the only way to produce children had still been through pregnancy and childbirth, this situation might have led to resentment and conflict. But fortunately, there was a technological solution here also. Along with genetic engineering, the technology for ectogenesis (developing the embryo outside the womb) had been perfected.

Technology, law and social institutions came together into a system. It worked as follows.

For every daughter she had, a mother was required to supply ten eggs to the State. (By the use of fertility drugs, this could normally be accomplished in just one or two extractions.) The eggs were then fertilized in vitro. Acquisition of sperm was not a problem; it could be obtained in any number of ways; or the femme might prefer to supply the sperm of her favorite concubine. It was at this stage that the genetic engineers did their work. As part of that, male gender was assigned, and the embryos were then transferred to the incubators for gestation.

Male infants were placed in state-run nurseries until they were past toddler age, then transferred to the state-run Boarding School. From an early age, boys were heavily indoctrinated with the ideology of female supremacy. As a product of this system, Bobby believed that femme were naturally the superior gender, that it was appropriate for them to have all the money and power in society, and that the proper place of males was to obey and serve them.

As males approached graduation, the Boarding School acted as a clearing house to facilitate placement in available domestic positions (concubine or serf). If this was unsuccessful, the homelessness / prostitution dilemma awaited the male.

If he wanted to delay his decision a couple of years, the Gynarchy offered an option: two years of military service. Bobby had taken that option. The USA's military capabilities were provided by robots and drones, supervised by an officer corps of femme. Males were not allowed to handle weapons, or learn their use, but males could be employed in logistical capacities.

Bobby had been stationed at several of the USA's overseas military bases. He had been recruited with the promise of "seeing the world". "Seeing the world" turned out to mean a few guided tours, closely supervised, in which the soldiers were not allowed to talk to the natives. The tour guide narrative focused on how far each host nation had progressed toward establishing a gynarchy. The USA made its foreign aid conditional on taking positive steps to dismantle the vestiges of patriarchy.

When Bobby was discharged, the government had given him a stipend of CR 1000 (roughly $1000 in 2025 money) . He had then become an "independent male".

For housing independent males, the Gynarchy had revived an institution from centuries past: the urban tenement. Bobby had moved into a tenement building with 20 males per floor. Each had a small private room, where he could heat food in a microwave, but there were only two common bathrooms per floor, one at each end of the hall.

Then Bobby's immediate problem, of course, became how to pay the rent, as well as pay for food. CR 1000 did not go very far.

Bobby's dilemma loomed in his mind. He could not quite decide how he felt about the idea of becoming a whore. He sort of had mixed feelings.

On the one hand, he definitely had a sexually submissive nature, with a particular inclination toward older femme. He felt a curious, tingling sort of inner thrill whenever he thought about obeying an older femme's sexual commands. He fantasized a lot about this.

The Gynarchy encouraged such fantasies, of course, and provided plenty of legal porn to support them. On the small TV screen in his room, Bobby could access free state-run porn channels. They featured videos of, for example, an older femme seated with her legs spread, while a naked male knelt between her legs, hands behind back, sucking her off. After she came, the male would be dismissed, and the closing shots would show a close-up up the femme's cunt. The viewer could then picture himself in place of the male who had serviced her. By this time, of course, the viewer would already be stroking his dick. He would cum with his eyes on the close up shot of the femme's cunt-lips and clit, surrounded by abundant gray hair. The reason for the private rooms was to allow for such porn-watching and masturbation without tying up the bathrooms.

On the other hand, Bobby had certain inhibitions about prostitution. The main one was that it would obviously require exposing his naked body to femme. Whores served naked, unless some special attire was requested.

During his upbringing Bobby had been taught that it was indecent to let femme see his body unclothed, especially his chest, ass or "private parts". He had been indoctrinated with the same concept of "modesty" that had been prescribed in past centuries - especially in a period known as the "Victorian era" - for females. This was done by the Gynarchy for a reason. The idea was that in later years, if a male was, shall we say, "persuaded" to strip for a femme - or worse, a group of femme - he would experience the act as deeply shameful and degrading. It would be as if they were taking something precious and personal from him: his "modesty". This would enhance the thrill of conquest for the femme.

Notwithstanding this inhibition, though, Bobby found himself fantasizing frequently about stripping for femme, especially older femme. He could not understand why it made his dick hard. Little did he know that this trait also had been planned by the Gynarchy. It had been included in his genetic engineering.

Bobby had another problem with prostitution, too. In his fantasies Bobby had certain particular tastes. Yes, he was attracted to older femme in general, but not so much for every body type. His fantasies always focused on the larger, plumper, "thicker" or more big-boned type of older femme. He also liked the prettier faces that the thicker femme usually had. If he became a whore, he would have to also service femme that were unattractive to him.

Bobby still wanted to put off making a decision. He did have one final option for a short delay. If a young male wanted to sign up for a two-month basic course in the sexual gratification of femme, the government would pay a stipend sufficient to cover his living expenses for about that long. Bobby had taken the course. But when it was finished, he felt no closer to making a decision.

Then a thought occurred to him. He did not know much about the world of prostitution, but based on what he did know, he thought there might at least be a solution to one of his problems. There might be a way to avoid the unattractive femme.

In the Gynarchy there were various forms of prostitution, but they fell generally into two categories: strip clubs and call-male services. The call-males clearly had no choice. The appointments were arranged without their knowledge or consent, and they must service whoever the client might be. They could not even quit their job without a risk of being blacklisted.

Bobby had never been inside a strip club, of course, but he had been told that it worked somewhat as follows. After a stripper got off stage, he was expected to circulate on the floor and offer himself to the customers for VIP service in the back rooms. If the stripper had performed a sufficiently lewd routine on stage, there was a good possibility that his offers would be accepted. Each VIP service lasted maybe an hour or so. So, if he could interest four or five clients of his own choosing -- that is, more or less of his choosing, within the limits of who was in the club -- his time might be occupied until the club closed.

Incidentally, there was no possibility of moving to better quarters than the tenement. The housing discrimination laws made it illegal to rent anything else to males. And of course, a male could never purchase a home. Males were forbidden to own property, except for personal effects and, for independent males, a low-balance bank account. So prostitution was a way to stay in the tenement, and off the street, not a way to get out of the tenement.

And even if all that were not true, the sex work would not pay enough for any such upward mobility anyway. Wages were regulated by the State and kept low, and the income tax on sex workers was at a confiscatory level. The strippers were allowed cash tips, both on stage and off, but there was no place to store the money other than in a locker. Before the stripper was allowed to leave, the House inspected his tip earnings and confiscated most of them. If he was lucky, a whore might make enough to keep his clothes from getting too worn.

But back to Bobby's dilemma -- his money was gone, and the rent was due. One of the tenement's uniformed Security Guards had come to collect it. Bobby had sucked her off to get a two-week extension, but now a decision had to be made. . .

After a couple of sleepless nights, Bobby finally decided to go with his strip-club plan. There was no way to avoid the degradation of the nudity, but he hoped he might be able to dull his shame and loosen his inhibitions with alcohol. Legally, alcohol was forbidden to males. But Bobby had heard that the clubs often gave it to their strippers, so as to increase the lewdness of their performances and the quality of their other services. Also, he had heard that sometimes a customer would pour a little of her drink into a small cup and hold it to the stripper's lips for him to swallow - provided that he sat nude on her lap and let her fondle his dick, while he begged and wheedled for the drink.

*

"The Mistress's Pleasure" was located near the business district downtown. It was one of the "classier" strip clubs. There was another "entertainment" district on the outskirts of town, but dark rumors swirled about the strip clubs there. It was speculated that their strippers might have been obtained from the underground slave market. Bobby decided to avoid that one.

Applying over the phone, Bobby was told to show up at 2 pm sharp for his in-person interview. On the day of the appointment, he was up early. There was usually a line to use the common bathrooms, and he was too nervous to sleep anyway. He carefully shaved his face and pubic hair. In accordance with the common taste of femme, males had been genetically engineered to have bare legs and just a thin down on chest and belly, but face and pubes could still grow hair. That feature was provided in case a mistress had a fetish for it or wanted to style it.

Bobby did not own many clothes, but he did have one good "sexy" outfit: tight satin black slacks and a satiny white blouse-shirt, with platform shoes. He got dressed and took the bus downtown.

He had been told how to find the back entry to The Mistress's Pleasure. It was a large orange wooden door with a small obsidian glass observation panel. Bobby knocked timidly. After what seemed an eternity, the door opened and Bobby saw a tall, uniformed, femme security guard with a pistol at her belt. She looked him up and down in a way that made him blush. "Yes?" she said.

"I -- uh -- my name is Bobby Henley, Mistress," Bobby stammered. In the Gynarchy, all femme were to be addressed by males as "Ma'am" or "Mistress". "Ma'am" was the default, but "Mistress" was used in any situation where the particular circumstances demanded acknowledgment of authority -- for example, by employees for their Bosses, by prisoners for Guards, by military males for Officers, and so on. Bobby was not sure what the proper address was in this case, but the sight of the uniform had triggered an automatic "Mistress". Back at the tenements, he had addressed the Guard he had sucked off as "Mistress". This Guard did not seem to mind, so he decided he had guessed right.

"For the interview?"

"Yes, Mistress."

The Guard beckoned him in, and shut the door behind him. Without further comment, she grabbed him by the back of the neck and began to march him along in front of her. The interior of the building was dim. It was a warm day and the A/C was on. Despite the cool air, Bobby began to sweat.

The Guard marched Bobby down a hallway, took a right turn, proceeded down another hallway, and pushed him into a large office. Seated behind a large wooden desk was a middle-aged woman with a broad, powerful face. She sported a thick thatch of orange-red hair, streaked with gray. Seated to her right was a considerably older woman with a narrow face and white hair, swept above her head in a severe bun. She was dressed primly in a dark pencil skirt and white blouse.

"Kneel before your betters, slut!" the Guard snapped. She pushed Bobby to his knees on the carpet before the two femme.

"Yes, Mistress," Bobby said as he landed on his knees. His heart was pounding, and he felt his dick getting hard. He spread his knees apart and clasped his hands behind his neck. This was a position he had been taught in his sexual training course. The Guard remained standing behind him.

The redhead behind the desk spoke in crisp tones. "I am the Manager of The Mistress's Pleasure and this is my Assistant Manager. That is all you need to know about us for now. If you are hired, you will obey all our commands without question. Stand up and take off your shirt. You may toss it on the sofa there."

"Yes, Mistress." With his conscious mind Bobby knew that obviously, he would have to strip to get a stripper job. But still he was not quite psychologically prepared for the peremptory command to expose himself. He felt it like a blow to his gut.

Nonetheless he instantly complied. After jumping up he quickly curtsied. He had been taught how to curtsy to femme in his sexual training course: hands behind back, eyes to the floor, left leg on tiptoe a few inches to the left, bob down and up, left leg back in place. After his curtsy he began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, trying to undo them as fast as he could. The femme laughed at his haste to obey. His response had come partly from his obedience-instincts, partly from nervousness, and partly because of a "tip" for male job applicants that he had heard on state-run TV. The TV had said that femme like quick obedience.

"Not so fast, slut,"the Manager said. "Normal speed will do for now. We will tell you if we want you to go slower or faster."

"Yes, Mistress," Bobby murmured, embarrassed. The femme laughed again. Bobby unbuttoned the remaining buttons, peeled his shirt off, held it to the side just briefly, and then tossed it on the sofa. On impulse, he curtsied again.

"Hands behind head, and turn around."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good, now you may remove your shoes."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Now back around facing us, and take off your slacks."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby fumbled with his slacks, thinking there was no really graceful way to do this, and got them off as best he could. He tossed them on the sofa, and curtsied again. There was a little "mmmmm ... " sound of appreciation from the femme as they saw his hard-on poking up inside his tight, soft-knit gray G-string. The G-string was cut so low that the head of Bobby's dick was peeping out above it. As previously noted, Bobby's dick was not particularly big, but what the femme liked was that he got a hard-on from obeying their commands. Bobby was embarrassed, and blushing.

"Now let's see more of that ass. Turn around, and wiggle it from side to side for us."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby rested his hands above his knees and wiggled his ass until the Manager spoke again.

"Good, now peel down that G-string and show us your tight little hole."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby obeyed. Bent over, with his G-string still hanging on his thighs, he reached behind himself and parted his ass cheeks. He was now blushing furiously.

"Looks like somebody is a natural little slut," the Assistant Manager commented. All three femme laughed.

"You may remove the G-string now. Then turn around facing us, hands behind head."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby got his G-string off his ankles, and tossed it on the sofa. He turned, hands behind head, and stood stark naked before the three femme. He curtsied again, which caused his erect dick to bounce up and down a little. The femme smiled, in a sort of wicked, knowing way. Bobby had never been more uncomfortable and embarrassed in his life, but also never more excited.

The Manager got up, walked to the side of the desk, and sat in a chair directly next to the Assistant Manager. She was wearing an orange blouse and a gray tweed businesslike pencil skirt. Bobby saw that she still had a fairly shapely figure, somewhat thickened and bulked up with age. Since he liked the thick type, the sight of her did nothing to diminish his excitement.

"Over here now, slut. Back up to where we can feel your ass, and bend over with your hands resting on your thighs."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby obeyed. He soon felt fingers stroking his ass, then pinching it, grabbing it and finally slapping it. Some of the slaps got pretty forceful. A hand came around and massaged his tits, and pinched his nipples. He grunted with pain, but did not cry out. Then one of them wrapped her hand around his dick -- not stroking, but just groping and squeezing it. That hand was removed and another took its place.

After a few minutes, that all stopped. Then Bobby felt something cold on his asshole. It was a latex-gloved finger, applying lube.

A hand slapped his ass, hard. "Relax it more, slut!" the Manager's voice barked.

"That's better." Bobby felt the finger slide inside. "Now tighten those sphincter muscles for me. Good. Grab my finger with your asshole. That's right . . . Release . . . tighten . . . release . . . tighten . . . Vera, do you want to test him?"

Bobby felt the Manager's finger removed. Then the other femme's finger took its place, and the tightening commands were repeated. Then the Manager's finger again. Eventually the Manager said, "Excellent. You may relax now."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby remained in position. Keeping her finger in his ass, the Manager began to question him.

"Have you had any training in how to please a femme, slut?"

"Y-yes, Mistress. In the basic course that the State prescribed, they trained me in a standard five-step method."

"Describe it."

"Yes, Mistress. These are the steps in default order, and normally the progression from one step to next is signaled by finger snapping or a slap from a riding crop. Step 1, attention to the Mistress's feet. Kiss the Mistress's boots or shoes, and look up to see if she commands licking them. Remove the Mistress's boots or shoes, massage her feet, kiss and lick them, and wash them with a warm cloth. Step 2, attention to the Mistress's legs. Light kisses to calves and thighs, and lick the backs and inner sides of the thighs, coming closer to her cunt. Follow up with warm cloth. Step 3, groom the Mistress's cunt. Kiss it first to show respect, probe the lips with tip of tongue, look up to see if she wants an inside grooming. If so, lick and suck out the inside of her cunt, getting it clean of all piss and juices. Step 4, service the Mistress's clit. Kiss it first to arouse interest. Nip it lightly to excite it and get it out of its hood. Then lick or suck as needed for Mistress's orgasm. This part is usually heavily dependent on specific commands from the Mistress. After Mistress cums, withdraw and put head to floor. Step 5, cleanup. Lick and suck all cum and other juices from around and inside the Mistress's cunt, kiss it, and follow up with light press of warm cloth. Head to floor, and wait to see if Mistress will require further service."

"That will do as a rough guideline. However, if you work here, I think you may find that our clients are often rather drunk and impatient, and may simply grab your head, press it to their crotch, and start barking commands." The femme laughed.

"Yes, Mistress," Bobby said meekly.

"Tighten for me again . . . now release. Good. Have you had any experience in practicing your training?"

"N-no, Mistress, other than with the Instructresses in the course."

"I see." The Manager removed her finger with a "plop", and slapped Bobby's ass, hard. She got up, moved her wheeled office chair back a little way behind her desk and sat down in it.

"Turn around and get on all fours, slut."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby did so.

"Crawl around here . . . that's right, right here." The Manager snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor in front of her.

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby quickly obeyed. He found himself staring at the Manager's knee-high boots. Glancing up her skirt, he could see a pair of thick but shapely thighs. He began to smell a whiff of ripe cunt.

The Manager spoke to the other two femme.

"I think we are done here. Vera, you may wish to interview him further later." Vera, the Assistant Manager, smiled. The two femme left.

*

Vanessa Versucci, the club manager, was 54, and rather well satisfied with her job. The pay was so-so, but the fringe benefits were terrific. She had always had a strong appetite for male flesh. She could afford five serfs at home (she did not care for concubines), but it took much more than that to slake her lust for variety. At the club her word was law. The strippers all needed their jobs, and at a word from her they could be fired or even blacklisted. She had her pick of them, any time she wanted, before, during or after their shifts.

She did not always make an applicant suck her off to get the job. After all she could always require his services later, and fire him if he was hesitant to comply. It depended on her mood, and of course her arousal level. When she was in the mood, there was nothing quite like the thrill of preying on a new piece of meat. And today she was in the mood.

"Crawl over to the side table, pour me a margarita, and bring it to me on your knees," she snapped.

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby found the table with the margarita pitcher and glasses, poured the drink, and shuffled over on his knees. He saw that the Mistress had picked something out of a cabinet; it looked like a riding crop. He tried to keep his hands from shaking. When he got to the Mistress, he lowered his eyes to the floor and extended his hands in front of him to present the drink. It was a maneuver he had been taught in his training course. Then he went back to all fours.

Suddenly Bobby became very conscious that he was naked on all fours before a fully-clothed femme. He almost shuddered with shame and excitement. But he did not have long to reflect on the situation, before he was put to work.

"You may see to my boots while I sip the drink."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby placed his palms flat on each side of the Mistress's boots, lowered his head and began to kiss them.

"Lick them, slut. Slowly. Long strokes, from the tip on up the instep."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby obeyed. He tasted the peculiar taste of the leather. Vanessa sipped her drink. The margaritas were strong, and she began to feel a rush from the liquor. It added to her natural aggressiveness. The young male was not bad-looking, and she liked the sight of him licking her boots. She began to feel flushed.

"Tell me how bad you need this job, slut. Are you out of money?"

"Y-yes, Mistress," Bobby said between licks. "My rent is overdue, Mistress."

"Beg.".

"Y-yes, Mistress. Please hire me, Mistress. Please, Mistress. I don't want to be homeless, Mistress."

"We'll see. Your looks are adequate, but there are lots of stripper applicants. You will need to convince me that I might be personally interested in having you around. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Mistress." Bobby made a little slurping sound at the end of his lick. "It would be a privilege to serve you, Mistress."

"You may stop."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby stopped licking and waited for his next command.

Vanessa got up, unzipped her skirt and discarded it. She was not wearing panties. When she had turned away to discard her skirt, Bobby had caught a momentary sight of a voluptuous middle-aged ass. It was still shapely, but full and sagging. It reminded him of ancient paintings he had seen somewhere -- "Italian Renaissance" or something like that. Then when the Mistress turned back toward him, Bobby saw that she had a huge bush of thick orange hair around her cunt. The hairs were coarse, and there were hints of gray here and there. Vanessa's bush was completely untrimmed, as was typical of the femme in the Gynarchy. It made a wide triangle on her pubic mound, flowed all down the sides of her cunt lips and under her butt haunches. It was even thicker around her clit.

Bobby thought he must be dreaming. This was like all his favorite masturbation fantasies distilled into one femme.

Almost immediately, the smell of the Mistress's cunt became stronger. It was not entirely foul, but it was a bit on the heavy side, as if it contained stale piss and juices. Bobby was in a daze, hypnotized by the sight and smell.

Leaving her blouse on, Vanessa sat down, leaned back and spread her legs. She took another sip of her margarita. Then she snapped her fingers and pointed to her cunt.

"Please me, cuntsucker,"she said. "You may skip the second step."

"Yes, Mistress."

Bobby put his hands behind his back and shuffled forward on his knees. He had practiced at home so that his muscles could hold out for almost an hour in this position. He kissed up the length of the Mistress's cunt lips to show respect. Vanessa let out a little grunt of satisfaction when he made contact. With long strokes, he licked up the valleys outside the Mistress's inner lips. They were a little sweaty. As he finished the second stroke, he "accidentally" brushed his tongue against the side of the Mistress's clit hood. Vanessa grunted again. She had a feeling that this was going to be good.

Then Bobby put the tip of his tongue just between the Mistress's cunt lips, as if to go inside. Her cunt felt slimy and had a strong sour taste, even that far out. Holding his tongue in place, he rolled his eyes upward, like an obedient dog, to see what the Mistress wanted.

"Thass right, cuntsucker," Vanessa slurred. "Clean it out."

Bobby grunted "uh-huh" and went to work. He used long strokes, one after the other, bottom to top. Vanessa began to gush.

CRACK! Bobby felt a sting, as the riding crop came down on his left ass cheek.

"SLURP on it, cuntsucker," Vanessa barked. "I said clean it out! Show me how much you want the job! Swallow that piss and cum for me!"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh" Bobby grunted frantically. The riding crop had shown him that the Mistress meant business. He wanted to avoid more of that. He curled his tongue, pulled out juices, swallowed, and then repeated. The taste was sour and bitter, not very pleasant. Swallowing was a mixed blessing. Nothing made him feel more degraded and used than swallowing, but his dick got harder and harder. And swallowing shortened the time that he had to taste the foul liquids.

After Vanessa felt her cunt was sufficiently groomed, she was ready for clit service.

CRACK! The riding crop came down on Bobby's other ass cheek.

"CLIT!" Vanessa barked.

"Yes, Mistress!" Trying to calm his excitement and fear of more whipping, Bobby found the Mistress's clit and planted a light kiss on it. Vanessa was primed and ready; just a touch on her clit was electric.

"Aaaaaaannnnnngghh. . ." she grunted and groaned when Bobby's kissing lips made contact.

"Lick it, slut. Not too fast. I'll tell you what to do."

"Yes, Mistress." Bobby began to lick. He was flustered, but he remembered a couple of things from his training. He kept the licking light to prevent sensory overload. And also, to further help with that, he made quick dips down into the Mistress's cunt to get oily juice on his tongue and apply it to her clit as lubricant. There was no shortage of juice to use.

Vanessa now gave Bobby special riding crop instructions: one light slap to increase licking speed; two quick slaps to slow down. Pressure of licking was dictated by a hand on the back of the male's head; this was common knowledge and had been reiterated in Bobby's training course. Vanessa knew how to prolong her pleasure. She made Bobby increase both speed and pressure just a little at a time.

Bobby learned quickly and obeyed eagerly. He needed the job.

As Bobby's licking continued, Vanessa went into higher and higher plateaus of pleasure. She had to admit to herself that for a young male with not much experience, this little shit was a good cuntsucker. Very promising. She decided she would hire him. She could always fire him later, if she tired of him or the customers were not happy with him. Sometimes her clientele could be pretty demanding.

Under the Mistress's speed and pressure commands, Bobby became less flustered. The commands gave him a reassuring structure. He felt that if he obeyed the commands properly, he would at least provide a basic level of satisfaction to the Mistress. This freed his mind to concentrate on trying to exceed the basic level. He tried to remember specific clit-licking techniques from his course. He used upward strokes for his main service pattern - catching the clit under the bottom and then stroking on up to just above it. But now he began to vary the pattern from time to time: a few circles around the clit, brushing its edges, and a little side to side flicking.

Vanessa was in the throes of ecstasy. By now she could barely remember where she was, or which male was sucking her off this time.

Eventually Vanessa felt she could not hold off any longer. She needed to cum. She began to buck and writhe a little. The femme of the Gynarchy did not "moan" like women in the videos of centuries past; that was a sign of weakness. But they were very vocal nonetheless. As their climax approached they usually grunted and almost growled with a low "aaaaaaarrrrrghhhhhhh" sound. Shrieks were reserved for the moment of cumming.

Vanessa began growling, and Bobby knew what it meant. He tried to remember his training. Should he lick harder? Suck? If he transitioned from licking to sucking, there would be a momentary loss of contact. What if that spoiled the climax?

He did not have to worry long, because Vanessa told him what to do.

"Aaaaaarrrrgggghhhhh . . . . Aaaaaaaannnnnnnnngggggghhhhhhhh! UNNNNNNNGGGHHH! SUCK IT, you little whore! Don't just lick it, SUCK IT!"

Bobby obeyed instantly. As quickly as he could, he put his lips over the Mistress's clit and vacuumed lightly. The response was electric. Vanessa began to buck and shudder, and passed the point of no return on the way to her climax.

Bobby took a chance. While trying not to lose the vacuum pressure, he administered a final light upward lick to the clit, and then flicked it side to side. Vanessa exploded. Shrieking loudly, she came. She gushed out pussy juice, and it looked like she was pissing some as well. Bobby got as much of it as he could into his mouth, and swallowed.

Vanessa pushed Bobby's head away. Bobby put his head to the floor, with his palms flat to the floor on either side. This was a position he had been taught in his training course; it was called "obeisance position".

After a time, Vanessa's breathing returned to normal and she regained her composure. She snapped her fingers and pointed to her cunt. Bobby then performed the clean up phase, as per his training. After he got as much juice as he could by slurping and licking, he kissed the Mistress's pussy and put his head back to the floor. Vanessa snapped her fingers again and pointed to a nearby sink with a washcloth hanging above it. Bobby wet the washcloth with warm water and applied light pressure to the Mistress's cunt. Then he put his head back to the floor.

Vanessa opened a case on her desk and put a cigarello between her lips. She tossed Bobby a lighter. Bobby rose up on his knees far enough to light her cigarello; then went back to obeisance position. Vanessa took a long drag, and exhaled.

She savored her afterglow for several minutes.

"All right, slut," she said. "I'm done with you. That door to your left leads to the Assistant Manager's office. Pick up your clothes but don't put them on. Knock on the door and she will answer. She will then continue your interview."

"Yes, Mistress," Bobby said. He quickly kissed each boot once. "Thank you for the privilege of serving you, Mistress. Please keep Bobby in mind for all your more personal needs, Mistress."

Vanessa made no reply, but simply snapped her fingers and pointed to the door.

"Yes, Mistress," Bobby said. He stood, curtsied again, then hastily picked up his clothes and shoes, and knocked on the side door. He heard Vera's voice say, "Come in."