The Future of Men? Livestock.
Domme Crudeles pointed to a big steel cabinet.
The man on her leash froze. She kicked him.
“Crawl in or I will heat the soldering iron. The scarred spot on his buttocks still hurt from the iron’s last touch.”
“Yes, Mistress Owner.”
She reached down, slapped him.
“You want punishment?”
“No, Mistress Owner. Thank you for giving me a place to live.”
He crawled in. Domme Crudeles closed, locked the door.
She waited five minutes. Tapped the combination on the door keypad. It opened.
“Yes, Mistress Owner. Thank you, Mistress Owner.”
She pointed to a 4′ by 4′ metal cage on the other side of the basement.
“If you are a good slave, I may let you sleep in that cage. Annoy me and you’ll spend nights locked in the cabinet.”
Not knowing how to respond, he looked confused.
“Speechless?” She laughed.
“I own you. No one knows where you are. You are my slave. You don’t believe it but there is no escape. You will never return to your old life.”
They dated for a month. Crudeles convinced him to play a bondage sex game. Now he was the prisoner of a maniac.
He knew nothing of Femdomosophy. Domme Crudeles would teach him. He would learn to fear her. Fear ensures obedience.
“You will live chained and shackled. Instead of selling real estate, you will wash dishes and sweep floors.”
A successful man, becoming a maid would be like damnation.
“Are you worrying about your dignity? Slave men don’t have pride or self-respect. Your entire gender should be ashamed. Men are evil, stupid. They run and ruin the world.”
She yanked his chain, choking him.
“You are typical of man’s future. Women are secretly taking power. We will dominate the world. The future of men? Livestock. All men will be owned by their betters.”
He did not believe a word. Clearly, she did. Crudeles glowed with evangelical passion.
“You think I’m crazy. Soon you’ll meet many women, Femdomosophists, who work for the downfall of malekind.”
She backhanded him.
“My friends will enjoy spending time with you.”
More face slaps.
“You will do more than scrub my floors. Your labor is just a bonus.”
Domme Crudeles grew steadily more excited. She yanked his nipple. For a second he thought she would tear it loose.
“I will make you cry and beg for mercy. Mercy! What a joke. You will suffer every day.”
She hitched his chain to an attachment point in the wall.
“I will ravish your mind. Ravage your body. You will suffer as all men should. I and my friends will feast on your agony. Laugh at your pain. You will pray for pity. But you are a man. Men don’t deserve pity or kindness.”
She opened a drawer, removed a whip.
“You will feel one of my whips every day for the rest of your life.”
He screamed. He begged. Domme Crudeles ignored his words. Enjoyed his screams.
Later she shoved him in the steel box. He and his excrement would spend the night together in a black, cramped prison.
Tomorrow, she hosed him down. How fine he looked, pink strips across his entire body. She began his day with the soldering iron. It is the slowest, most painful way to brand a new slave man.