First Day

It was an odd feeling, not grogginess exactly, but a diminished sense of agency, of ability to resist, of the capability to disobey. They had given us the drug just before the auction, the “vending” as They called it, and it had done its job, on me at least. We had been warned that the vending would be difficult, here where men – sorry, old habits can die hard – here, in this world, males are not “men,” we are all “boys” … were treated as a decidedly different and a most decidedly inferior species. Where boys are pets, bought and sold several times on average over the course of our lives. Indigenous boys are used to it, having known nothing else since birth, when they were “pups” or “kittens” or “tadpoles” or “guppies” or “cubs,” all terms that were used to refer to male children as they were raised, trained, sold and bought. Through sophisticated genetic combinations, the Women of Gynesis had created various “breeds” of boys. Some physically quite large; others “miniatures.” Some with fuller hair, some with thicker cocks. Some as thin as greyhounds; others more akin to mastiffs. But this inter-breeding had come at a cost, accentuating a recessive genetic sequence that had many negative consequences, among them a certain mental slowness, a tendency to disease, and a low sperm count across all indigenous “breeds.” Mistresses talked about it with the resigned, clinical tone that we would have used back home to lament a daschund's back troubles or the deafness of white cats. But, from what I've seen and surmised, I figure the Women of the Gynesis Empire also wanted more variety in Their pets. As they were called generically, native “dinks,” regardless of “breed,” tended to have one similar feature: while their penises varied in thickness, they all tended to be short with modest “heads.” Growing up, I rarely saw and certainly never really focused on penises, other than my own, of course. But here, I got used to it … and quickly. Pets don't wear clothes, after all, though sometimes we are put in “outfits,” designed not to hide but to accentuate body parts. Captured boys like me are sometimes called “exotics” or more crudely “nicks” (a contraction of “new dicks”) and are valued for our variety. If you happened to be blonde and blue eyed (as I am) you went for a higher price, as did taller boys. Women also valued the variety in our cock sizes and shapes, which featured prominently in our auction descriptions. As we were displayed for sale, the Auctioneer described our features … straightness, angle of erection, cut or uncut, head size, length, and girth … the latter numbers stated as normally, as casually as we might mention a bra size back home.

I first experienced this the day before my sale, when a dozen of us in my sales lot were brought up from our cages and walked through the auction process. We had all been freshly groomed, scrubbed clean and suffered through body waxes to denude our lower bodies of all hair. I'm sure that was intentional, to make us feel even more naked, more vulnerable as we saw the auction block for the first time. We were given instructions about carriage (heads bowed, eyes lowered, no smiles, no frowns), obedience (expected to be immediate), silence (unless, in the unlikely event we were asked to speak), likely poses we could expect to assume (mouths open, tongues extended, bowed from the waist, ass cheeks parted). Then a Handler leashed each of us in turn and led us down the long catwalk, while an unseen announcer read off our vital statistics as well as any distinguishing marks that might add to our value (e.g., higher intelligence scores, uncircumsized cocks, high cheekbones) or detract from it (existing scars, tattoos, or piercings). To hear my penis described like this for the first time was certainly odd. Flattering, I guess, in a way, but also incredibly demeaning … but something I would get used to. The walk through ended with all of us kneeling as the lead Handler for our lot explained in no uncertain terms what would happen to any of us who caused any problems the following day. Picking one poor boy at random, She touched an electric prod to his bare bottom, sending him into convulsing paroxysms of pain that She waited calmly to subside before continuing. “If any of you nicks show Me any attitude whatsoever tomorrow while you're on the catwalk, that'll be to your balls. And believe me, you won't just howl, you'll puke up every ounce of your kibble.” She paused for effect before continuing. “After I make you lick up your barf, we'll continue with the auction, but don't be surprised if your antics bring you added attention and higher bids from some of the rougher Women attending the audience.” Her tone then softened, a speech pattern I was to observe time and again with the Women of Gynesis. “So do U/us both a favor and behave tomorrow. It won't be easy, I know, but if you continue to accept your new lives and do as you're told, I'll promise you I'll make it as easy on you as I can.”

And She was true to Her word, giving us a powerfully effective sedative that lowered my anxiety, increasing my pliancy as I was vended. The entire process, how the Women behaved during the auction, how I was treated underscored fully something we were told right after being captured. They didn't hate us, They didn't fear us; They just didn't see us as anything like Their evolutionary equals. By Their worldview, Their religion, Their philosophy, They had dominion over us. Period. By birthright, They were Owners; by birthright, we were chattel, pets. And there was nothing we could do about that, other than accept it … or resist, and very early on we were shown that resistance would be punished severely, up to the point of being “put down.” The drug made all of this easier to take as I was displayed -- nude (save for a collar around my neck and electronic hobbles about my ankles), freshly bathed and groomed, scented – bid upon, and sold. Even with the sedative, by the time my turn on the catwalk was over, I was quivering as though I had a bad chill. One young bidder, maybe in Her late teens, had asked to see my tongue fully extended and how well I could “work” it. An older Woman, perhaps in Her 60s, asked about my ass, receiving assurances that I was an “anal virgin,” which prompted Her to raise Her bids several times. Other bidders asked to see my flexibility, enquired about several minor surgeries listed in the auction notes, and wanted more details about the profession (civil engineer) I'd held in my previous life. From the mundane to the intimate, each question, each pose stripped a bit more of my humanity away. But as the Handler led me off the stage to the sound of polite clapping, She soothed me, with reassurances that I'd done so well, that I'd sold for well above the chattelry's expectations, and that She was sure my new Owner would be very pleased with me.

Now, several hours later, the drug was wearing off, but still had some hold on me as my new Owner led me into Her home. Funny how memory works, especially when swirled around by a sedative. My recollections of the period directly after the auction are blurred or absent. I can't recall or pull up my emotions when I saw Mistress for the first time as She collected me, and the images I have of that first drive to Her house are muddled, confused, and interwoven with so many subsequent images. But like a film that continues after an inexplicable interruption, my memories become crystal clear on arrival at my new home. Not giving me time to orient myself or get anything but flitting glimpses of the neighborhood, yard, and house, She yanked on my leash and brought me down to a cool, dimly lit, lower floor, decorated and furnished, but with a cold, hard, stone floor. In the corner was a cage built of sturdy wire mesh, roughly three feet tall but five feet deep. Mistress opened the door and gave me one of the simple commands She used. “In” was all She said, an order that had me on all fours, crawling into the cage. “Turn, boy.” When I did so, I was looking Her almost squarely in the eyes, through the wire, as She had squatted down to look at me. Quickly, almost instinctively, I lowered my gaze, which brought from Her a gentle laugh and reassuring words. “Good boy. You have beautiful eyes, but you know better than to raise them without permission.” She took a moment to attach a water bottle to the outside of the wire, its metal tube reaching into the cage. “Drink,” was Her mono-syllabic command, and I obeyed, sucking in the tepid water, grateful, until then not having appreciated how parched I was. “Good boy,” She said again. When I stopped, She asked, “Had enough?” “Yes,” I said, “Mistress” added just a beat and a half later. These were the first words I'd spoken to Her, since She had not until then asked me a question or granted me permission to speak. Despite the slight pause on my part, She slid Her hand into the cage, raised my chin and lifted my face, rewarding me with a bright smile before gently pushing my chin and my gaze back down. Clearing Her throat, She said, “you need some time for the sedative to wear off fully and to reflect. Some quiet time, to think about what you are and who I am … to let all of that sink in. Lie down, sleep if you can, drink any more water you want. But I don't want to hear a peep out you? Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, Mistress,” I replied, this time without the pause. “And,” She said, drawing out the words, “let's not either of U/us pretend that at some level you don't enjoy this. I have, after all, seen both your genetic report and psychological profile. We know Our business, boy … and you are not here by chance.” With that She rose, covered the cage with a heavy dark blanket that put me into near total darkness. As Her heels clicked across the hard floor, I heard Her stop to turn off the room light, which made my darkness complete as She climbed the stairs and closed the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

In confined, total darkness, time passes slowly, or maybe oddly is the better term. In fact, i'm reasonably sure that was part of the lesson She wanted me to learn. That “my time” no longer had any inherent value; in fact, it wasn't even mine, it was Hers. Finding the water spout again with my hands and lips, I sucked down a bit more, then curled into a ball on the padding that covered the bottom of the cage and drifted off to sleep, thinking about Her words.

I do not know how long I slept, but I was out cold for a while. When I awoke, I had a mild headache, probably a hangover effect from the sedative. It took me a few moments to orient myself, to remember where I was, to notice the faint rim of light on the floor creeping in under the blanket, to hear the tap of heels, and to catch just a whiff of Her perfume. “Mistress?” my voice was tentative. Her response was not. The sound of Her heels were sharp, Her voice from the darkness above me was sharp. “I thought I'd made Myself clear that you speak ONLY when I give you permission to speak. And I did NOT. You clearly need some more time to internalize what being a good pet means. If I hear another sound out of you, boy, I'll whip you until you're too hoarse to speak.” Her words echoed in the room and, stunned by Her anger, I didn't move a muscle. After several long moments, I heard Her turn and pace back across the room, returning to whatever She had been doing before turning off the lights, heading back upstairs, and leaving me in dark silence.

Again, time slowed for me, as I dozed, drank the last of the water, and sat against the side of the cage considering my situation. It was clear that I had few options other than to accept and obey. Escape was probably impossible and possibly not survivable. Before vending, I'd been “chipped,” a location device injected into the back of my neck, which was still sore. Prior to taking me from the auction house, Mistress had scanned my code into Her portable computer tablet and once in Her car into the vehicle's navigation device. If I ran, She could track me. And run where? I knew almost nothing of the place, other than chilling rumors of the harshness of conditions in the desert that surrounded the oasis on which the city was built. And i'd never make it out of the city, since i still wore the hobbles, which could be activated remotely, making any movement beyond crawling virtually impossible

I was still pondering these thoughts when Mistress returned, descending the steps and after a few moments pulling back the blanket. Even the relatively low lighting took a moment to adjust to as Mistress ordered “Hands and knees.” When I had assumed this posture, She unlocked the cage door and opened it, stepping back, saying simply “Out.” Crawling forward, I could tell that She had changed clothes since the auction. The dark skirt, the serious heels, the business look were gone. She was casual now; I could see sandals and jeans. “When I let you out of the cage, boy, you'll kiss my feet … and I want to feel gratitude in the kisses. Do it now.” I obeyed, touching my lips to Her feet, noticing both that they were elegantly pedicured and that I did, in fact, feel a sense of gratitude to Her. I guess I'd taken another significant step toward accepting that I really was Her pet. “Good boy” was my reward. “But you always kiss a Woman's right foot first, then Her left. Do it again.” When I had complied and made a mental note of the proper way to express my submission, I was rewarded with another kind remark as well as a warning: “Much better, pet. Don't make me have to remind you of that again.”

“I lost my temper earlier and I shouldn't have.” Her tone implied not an apology, but a simple statement of fact. She paused. “Despite your age, you're just a pup and need training.” She paused again; I could feel Her gaze on my form. “You are intelligent, which is good, because you have a lot to learn. I can and will be patient as I train you. But I will NOT be willfully disobeyed. Now, boy, forehead to the floor.” When I had bent fully forward, forehead to the cold floor, She asked me: “What did you do wrong earlier?”

“I spoke without permission, Mistress.”

“Even worse,” Her voice took an edge, “you spoke when I had explicitly demanded silence, didn't you, dink?”

I shivered, cheeks flushing, nails digging at the hard floor as She used the crude term to refer to me for the first time. “Yes, Mistress,” came my meed reply.

“And you understand that speaking is a privilege, not a right?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Why is that?”

It took me a moment to understand what She was asking, but after a pause, I responded. “Because I am a pet, Mistress.”

“And a dink. Say it.”

“Yes, Mistress,” my mouth dry. “And a dink.”

“Whose pet are you?”

“Your pet, Mistress.”

“Whose dink are you?”

“Your dink, Mistress.”

“Do you have a name?”

This question and Her tone in asking it chilled me. It had been made clear to us when we were captured that our previous identities were gone; like all of our possessions, they'd been taken from us. We were told that we'd receive new names that our Owners chose for us. I felt another bit of my humanity slip from me as I denied my name, my former name, and answered, “no, Mistress.”

“Why not?” She continued the catechism.

“Because You haven't named me yet, Mistress.”

Above me, She chuckled. “Oh, but actually, I have … I've even registered your name … I just haven't told You what it is yet.” She paused again. “Would you like to know what it is?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Kneel up,” She commanded. “Your name is 'tup' … t – u – p … a simple, easy name. Tup,” She repeated, then traced Her finger over my chest, above my left nipple, the first time She'd touched me. “And I'm going to have it tatted right here. You'll learn that all the Women in My family like to mark what We own. Now … what is your name, pet?”

“tup, Mistress,” I said my name for the first time.

“Why is that your name, tup?”

“Because it's the name You chose for me, Mistress.”

“Do you have any other names”?

“No, Mistress,” I swallowed hard at this admission.

“Good boy,” She said, ruffling Her fingers through my hair. “You're learning.”

Turning, She walked across the large room and opened a door. “Come,” then, as I began to rise, added: “Crawl.” Arriving at Her feet, I saw that She stood at the entrance to simple, utilitarian bathroom. “Kneel up, tup. This is for your use. Do your business, then shower well.” Lifting a large bottle, “Then use this. It's the scent that I've chosen for you and that I want to smell on you, and for Others to smell. You will get used to it. Apply it liberally anywhere I'm likely to touch: ass, balls, cock, tummy, chest, face. Understood, tup?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Then roughly She lifted my arm and took my left hand into Hers, Her grip surprisingly strong and firm. “And don't chew on your nails, boy,” She said, running the pads of Her fingertips over my bitten nails and cuticles. It was a bad habit i'd had since I was a boy; it had been noted in my evaluation at the chattlery, and several of my Handlers had commented on it. “They look pitiful, and I won't have it. I'll have your nails done professionally tomorrow, and I'd best not catch you picking at them or biting them. I know it's a nervous habit and that you're very anxious right now, but you need to learn to control that. Understood, pet?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, cheeks flushing at Her words. Oddly perhaps, more than anything else that had happened so far, this truly made me feel like Her pet.

“Good. Get going and don't dally, W/we have plans tonight. Come find me when you're done.”

With that, She turned to leave, but stopped to add: “Oh, two things. One, never, ever close the door when you're in the bathroom. You have no right to privacy. Second, you should know this, but don't touch your cock except to clean it and perfume it. I own it, like I own the rest of you … and I'll decide if it receives any pleasure. You want to feel my full wrath, tup, you cum without permission. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Get to it then.” With that She left.

As ordered, I showered quickly but thoroughly, luxuriating in the hot water after hours cramped in the cage. Smelling the perfume Mistress had chosen for me, I was struck by its rich, floral scent. Not a masculine scent at all. Surely as Mistress intended, though, it immediately became the aroma that I associated with my status, the smell replacing the clothes I used to wear, which had labeled me as an upper middle class professional.

Clean and scented, I climbed the stairs out of the basement, up to the main level of the house. Funny, I can still remember how odd it felt at the time for my half erect cock to jut out, swinging freely as I entered the kitchen. Of course, I've long since become accustomed to that feeling. Now, it is any sort of cover, of clothing that would feel odd. From the lighting, I took it to be early evening. Whether it was still the day of my vending, I didn't know. This time, I took a few moments, taking in the good tastes that Mistress displayed in Her furniture and decorations. My observations were broken by Her voice coming from a nearby room. “I'm in the den, tup. Come.”

Following her voice, I entered the den, finding Her seated on a couch, putting a book down. In that moment, I got my best, fullest look at Her, this Woman who owned me. It was hard to tell, since Women of Gynesis aged so gracefully, but She was probably in Her early to mid 30s, as much as a decade younger than me. Like most of the Women I'd seen here, She was slender, with thick black hair, Hers was tied back. Her dark eyes were stunning, and She'd changed clothes, no longer in jeans but dress slacks and a silk blouse. She bore Herself with confidence, grace, and balance. She was fit, with the figure of one who had been an active athlete in Her youth and still worked out regularly. I had only a moment to absorb this before She snapped Her fingers and pointed to Her feet, shod now in two inch black heels. I knew this was the order to approach, kneel, and kiss Her feet. Right, then left.

“Good boy,” She said, real pleasure in Her voice as I obeyed. Ruffling Her fingers through my hair, a touch that I found so confident, so intimate, so possessive, She lifted Her fingers and breathed in deeply. “Ah, as I expected, that scent is wonderful on you, tup. Now, I suspect that you're probably starving. I want you to go to the kitchen, where you'll find your bowls on the floor. You may drink from the water bowl at any time. You'll eat from your food bowl only with my permission; even if there is food in there, you don't touch it until I say so. Clear, tup?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Tonight, as a treat, you'll find some table scraps with your kibble. What do you say?”

“Thank You, Mistress.”

“Good boy, tup. Now go eat. You may walk to the kitchen … but no hands while eating … you're a pet.”

In the kitchen, I found my bowls and lowered to all fours to eat. The kibble was dry and bland, but Mistress had included bits from Her plate, a crust of bread, some rice, a few tidbits of grilled chicken, half a spear of asperagus, and a sweet I couldn't identify. About halfway through, Mistress entered the kitchen. “Keep eating, pet,” She said when I stopped and knelt up at Her approach. Leaning against the counter top, She watched me. “I like my boys thin and I'll keep you on a very strict diet, so I probably don't even need to say this. But you'll savor every bite you get, and you'll eat whatever I put in your dish, without hesitation, without any expression of distaste. Every bite is a gift from Me and you'll treat it as such, licking the bowl clean. If you leave even a scrap, I'll let you experience real hunger.”

When I had finished, bowl licked clean, Mistress has me kneel up, while She sat on a stool by the counter and talked to me. “W/we're going over to my Mother's house in a bit. My family wants to see My new pet. I know that this is difficult for new boys, being in public. But I expect good behavior. It's simple really, if you'll let it be simple … obey, remember what you are, and remember whose you are. Will you do that, tup?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I hope you won't disappoint me, boy. I've told my family very good things about you.”

Lifting Her right foot, Her shoe toe bouncing the tip of my half-rigid cock, She said: “Now, W/we have to do something about this.” She smiled as She spoke. “I like that you're eager and aroused. As you know, I'm sure, one of your functions will be sexual. There is a time and place for that. In time, I'll train you to control this better and the novelty will wear off, so you won't have half a boner all the time. Tonight, though, W/we just need to keep you from dribbling your cock snot all over my Mother's floors.”

Lifting a thin, metal rod from the countertop, She ordered, “Stand.” When I obeyed, She held the 4 inch rod to my lips, ordering, “Open and suck.” Fellating it, cheeks flushing, I heard Her say, “It won't hurt, but a little lube will help.” With that, She withdrew the rod, grasped my shaft with strong, confident fingers, admonished me to “Stand still,” and slid the device into my urethera, my pee hole. At the tip, the rod had a cap on it that fit around the tip of my cock head; fine filigree spelled out several intertwined letters on the cap. The sensation was intense, not painful exactly, but incredibly invasive.

“It's a smart device, tup. Not only does it plug your leak, but it has sensors that monitor your arousal. If you get close to cumming, you'll get a shock nasty enough to wilt you. Not pleasant, I'm sure, but it will keep you from embarrassing yourself … and earning a whipping. Let me guarantee you, you do NOT want any whipping, most especially your first, to be in front of others. And these letters,” here She tapped the cap lightly, “My initials … in case there is any question who owns this.”

Ordering me back to my knees, She sent me to wait by the garage door, collecting me there on Her way out. As when She had brought me home from the auction house, She placed me on all fours in the back of Her vehicle, a large SUV-like crossover. We drove for a while through pleasant residential neighborhoods, the wealth obvious in the large houses, the well kept lawns. A number of Women were out jogging, alone or in small groups, sometimes running Their boys, too, on leashes. The images sped past. Well manicured lawns, sometimes with boys weeding or mowing. Kids out playing, Girls in tee shirt and shorts and summer dresses, nude young "guppies" kneeling in attendance. Other vehicles, all driven by Women, often with boys like me in the back.

When we pulled into a large circular drive and stopped, several young Girls dashed to the car, greeting Their Aunt. On the large porch, several Women rose from Their chairs, waving as Mistress hugged Her Nieces, then opened the back door, ordering me "Out ... and behave."

Paying me no more attention than they showed to Mistress's SUV, the Nieces raced ahead. Mistress led me up the walkway to the large open porch, bussing Her Mother (Ms. Anna) and Her Two Sisters (Ms. Pamela and Ms. Lora) in greeting. Here, though, i was the center of attention, as Ms. Anna clapped Her hands, saying "And this must be tup." i had knelt and Mistress now ordered me around the circle, to kiss every foot in greetings ("Girls, too, tup ... They are Women to you," She reminded me). i kissed the feet of the elegant Women related to my Mistress, though it was difficult at first to keep the feet matched with the Women. One wore ankle bootlets of soft, rich, black leather. Ms Anna wore more formal pumps. The two nieces and the other sister had on sandals, Her toes exquisitely manicured, several adorned with beautifully crafted toe rings. Each boot, each pump, each sandaled foot touched in humble greeting by my lips.

In the coming weeks, i would get to know these Women well. Ms Anna was the firm Matriarch of this family. A high ranking executive in a major transportation firm, Her business took Her all over the republic. She made a very good living, had provided Her daughters with many advantages in life, including excellent educations, and held high expectations for Them. Ms Pamela was an up and coming officer in the armed forces, one of the youngest majors in the Army. I was not surprised to learn this, for even on this evening, in the casual comfort of Her Mother's house, there was a reserved, martial air about Her. Ms Lora, the youngest, had followed Her Mother into business, doing very well in the republic's booming venture capital markets. If i haven't mentioned this, my Mistress was the artistic one of the sisters, a professional artist, mainly painting, some sculpture, who was just beginning to make a name for Herself, with a couple of recent, very well regarded shows.

"What a good looking boy, Theresa," Ms. Anna said to my Owner, as She stroked my cheek, turning my face to get a good look at me. "And that cock rod is so cute. A nice little party favor. Look how happy he is to see U/us," She teased.

Mistress laughed. "Well, can't have his cock drooling all night, Mom."

"Now that You're here, Theresa, W/we should move to the courtyard. I'll take tup inside and introduce him to the other boys and have him fetch You back a drink. White wine, tonight?"

"Yes, please, Mom, something very dry, please." With that She unfastened my leash, draping it over the back of a whicker chair.

"OK. Let's go, tup." As I followed Ms. Anna, the three sisters shared a joke, which I heard only partially, about Their pets "sniffing each others' butts."

Ms. Anna led me in the front door and into Her house, which was like a small palace, built around a central courtyard. Inside, it was cool, the abode emanating presence and power. Ms. Anna pointed out one boy ("darp, whom I've had the longest") and another ("tilde; I got him five years ago") who were both hastening to arrange the seating in the courtyard. I could tell that both darma and tilde were gyns; i learned later that they were both geldings. Ms. Anna owned a third boy (the maximum number of adult slaves allowed individuals under the law), an exotic named "isu," whom i did not meet that night; he was in the basement being punished. I also caught a fleeting glimpse of the Nieces being attended by a young slave boy as They ran off to play.

In the kitchen, She introduced me siok and nob, who belonged to Ms. Pamela and Ms. Lora, respectively, and who were doing the cooking. Both nodded to me, but none of us spoke, not having been given permission. As Ms. Anna opened a bottle of white wine from the refridgerator, i watched siok and nob, who were cutting vegetables. Both were dinks; like me, both were blonde. Ms. Lora's boy nob couldn't have been more than 20. I would have known their names even without being told, because both had their names tatted above their left nipples. "nob" was inscribed within a heart shape; "siok" was in a flowing script. In the coming days, i would learn that such markings betrayed both familial traditions and the changing dictates of fashion. Some families prefered boys marked on their tummies or bottoms; all of Ms. Anna's boys had their names tatted just above their cocks. I also noted that siok and nob both had thick rings piercing their nipples, which i would have soon, too .. though Mistress prefers bars in me rather than rings. I noticed something else odd, each boy's cock seemed oddly curved. It didn't look painful, just unnatural. When nob saw my gaze, he blushed, but said nothing.

"Here you go, tup, Your Mistress's wine." She handed the glass over to me. "siok, how much longer for dinner?"

"About 45 minutes, Ma'am," the boy answered, interrupting his slicing as he spoke.

"Excellent," She said, patting him on the bottom as She passed behind. "If it's as good as last time, I will be well pleased. Let's go, tup."

She led me from the kitchen out to the courtyard, where Mistress and Her Sisters had settled into conversation in the cooling even air. I knelt beside Mistress's chair and handed Her the wine glass, which She acknowledged by tugging gently on my earlobe, not missing a beat in the conversation. A conversation as casual, as "normal," as one would hear back home about registering a new car.

"No, with the new chipping requirements, they're not as strict about having their butts barcoded before leaving the auction," Mistress said.

"Really?" Ms. Lora said. "I got nob, what a year and half ago, and they wouldn't release him until his ass was coded."

"Better technology," Ms. Anna said. "I certainly like the new chips; makes it much easier to send the boys out unaccompanied on errands."

"The bar codes are still required to complete the registration process, but You have 10 days now," Mistress continued. "I have to take tup in to the vet anyway to have him looked over and start his piercings; I'll do that sometime this week."

Ms. Lora, Mistress's older sister, had been watching me and chuckled. "he liked that, Terry. Did You see how his lil cock bobbed."

All the Womyn lauged as my cheeks flushed. Ms. Anna said, "he's so cute, Terry."

Mistress tugged gently on my hair. "We'll see if he likes it quite as much when he sees the needles ... especially if I decide to have his cock pierced, too."

"It's all the rage," Ms. Lora contributed. "I think he'd look good with some dick jewelry. He's certainly got the right size to carry it well; what is he, a 35 – 7 - C?" She used the shorthand for how cocks were measured in Gynesis.

"Actually, Lora, he listed in the sale notes as 36.5 – 7 - D." Sounds of appreciation came from all three Women. "Yep, that's why I paid the price I did for a boy of his age. But I fully intend to get my money's worth." With this, She ran her fingers through my hair, and the conversation moved to other subjects. Local news, a political campaign in the city, a house selling down the street ... all more difficult for me to follow, as the names and places were unfamiliar to me.

The other boys had been setting a table for the Ladies and soon siok announced dinner. Mistress had me kneel by Her chair, telling me to watch and learn as nob and siok served the food, tilde kept Their glasses full, and darp knelt by Ms. Anna's side, getting an occasional treat from Her fingers. "You still spoil them, Mom, letting them eat from the table," Ms. Lora scolded. But Her Mother deflected the criticism, "It's OK to spoil a pet ... now and then."

The food smelled delicious; i could make out grilled meat and vegetables, a salad with a fragrant dressing, freshly baked bread. At some point my stomach growled audibly, causing Mistress to look down at me and half-whisper, "No, you've already eaten, tup." This veered the conversation to discussion of my Mistress's preferences for slender boys ("You've always been that way," said Ms. Anna, "remember how skinny that boy You had in high school was? What was his name? We always called him 'lil bit.'"), Ms. Pamela's preferences for "more meat on their asses" ("they bear the whip so much better that way"), the tendency of new dinks to lose weight as they adjusted to new diets and their new lives ("nob probably dropped ten pounds in water weight crying himself to sleep every night," Ms. Lora joked cruelly), and Mistress's planned chores for me ("this time of year, he'll be in the garden a lot ... tans look so good on a blonde ... few better ways than toiling in the sun to separate a boy fully from his former life, break him down fully ... make him have to beg for water a few times").

Over the course of the evening, the conversation flowed easily, casually around the table. We boys were generally ignored, as the Women ate and conversed. Some topics you'd hear around any dinner table anywhere; others unique to Gynesis. What were the Nieces up to? Watching a movie while eating. Ms. Anna's new car. Something sportier than Her usual choices. Whether i would keep my foreskin. Absolutely not, Mistress said. The cost of real estate in the city. Increasing again, after a lull. Political goings on in the capital. The quality of the wine; judged only OK for the price.

At that point, the conversation turned back to the new chip that still ached in my neck and its biometric properties, the Ladies chatting about its obvious benefits. "Yes, indeed," Mistress said, "if I send tup to work out for an hour, I can monitor his pulse and BP and make sure he doesn't slack off. I know, it's not without its limits and glitches, but I think it's a major improvement."

"Are You going to have him 'wormed'?" The question came from Ms Pamela, and something about Her tone implied this was something of a controversial topic.

"Of course," Mistress replied, maybe a bit too eagerly. "Who wouldn't?"

Had i had a better vantage point, i would have seen that Mistress looked at Her Mother when She asked Her rhetorical question, and drew a sharp response.

"Let's not start this again, Terry."

"But, Mom, You were just saying Yourself how convenient the new chips are. Is the worm that much different?"

"I'm old school about some things ... so let's drop this, OK?"

"Alright," Mistress replied, "but You know isu would a lot easier to handle if he were wormed."

I had some difficulty following this flare up in the conversation and would learn only days later what "worming" entailed. When i did, i wished i hadn't. A "worm" is a nanotech polymer prostethic that surgically emplanted in the penis and controled remotely. When not engaged, it bends into a semi-circular shape, accounting for the odd curve i'd seen in siok and nob's dicks. In this setting, the worm makes an erection impossible. When it is engaged, it makes an erection unstoppable, whether a boy is aroused or not. At higher settings, the intensity of the erection can be painful. I didn't realize it that evening, but like a growing number of boys in Gynesis, i'd soon be fitted with one.

At some point, we boys cleared the table and fetched dessert, which I was ordered to help with. As the Women enjoyed Their slices of freshly baked pie, Mistress ran a finger through the rich compote and held it down to my lips, saying it was a treat for such good behavior on my first day. “So cute,” Ms. Anna said to Mistress as I suckled the delicious sweet from Her fingertip, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but obedient with both hunger and desire to please.

Dinner ended for U/us when Mistress made excuses about the busy day She's had and how my day wasn't over yet, since I still had several chores to learn back at the house. Stroking my hair, Mistress enquired, “Need to do your business before W/we head home, pet?”

Since i'd been wondering for some time about how to ask Mistress if I could pee, I nodded eagerly that I did. “Yes, please, Mistress.”

“Come with Me,” She said, rising from Her chair. “Hands and knees,” She added casually just as I was about to rise to my feet. Heeling behind Her, I was taken aback when She turned not toward the nearest door, but deeper into the courtyard, toward a shadowed spot, away from the dinner table.

Stopping, Mistress looked down at me, saying, “One of the nice things about boys is that you can go anywhere. Kneel up.” When I had complied, She pulled the rod from my dick and held it to my lips. Once i'd suckled it clean, tasting the odd flavor of pee mixed with pre-cum, She ordered me back to all fours and then instructed me to raise my right leg and to piss, right there in the grass. The intense humiliation of this posture, of having to go in the presence of a Woman (as far as I could tell, visible to an entire family of Women), froze my bladder. Though moments before i'd been fidgeting with the need to urinate, now I couldn't produce even a drop. Above me, Mistress's tone softened. “Take your time, tup. I'm in no hurry. I understand that this is all so very new to you … but you'll soon get used to it. There is nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of. This is not just common here, it is entirely natural.... There you go, tup” Her words encouraged me as trickle of pee dribbled from cock, filling out to fuller flow. “Good boy.” When the stream stopped, She waited a moment, then asked. “That it?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“What do you say, tup?” Her voice took on an edge again.

“Thank You, Mistress,” I responded, scolded.

“Now that wasn't so bad, was it?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Good. It will get easier, over time … I promise you that. Just do as I tell you … and don't fight it, physically or mentally or emotionally. Just do as you're told, OK?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy. Let's go home.”

With that, I was sent off to the kitchen with nob to prepare some leftovers to take home with U/us, while Mistress, Her mother, and sisters discussed several other upcoming family events, including a planned holiday trip. This conversation continued as Mistress and the other Women strolled out to the front porch, where I was ordered to kneel for my leash to be reattached to my collar. Above me, hugs were exchanged all around and Mistress graciously accepted compliments about Her new pet. Ms. Anna stroked my head affectionately, as She advised Her daughter not to be too hard on me … but not too easy either, Ms. Lora added.

Driving home, Mistress seemed relaxed and talked more than on the drive over. She was repeated how pleased She was with my behavior, how well I'd adapted to my situation, how nicely I'd fit in to Her extended family. “Did you see the way Pam was looking at you, tup?”

“No, Mistress.” I truly hadn't noticed. She was the quietest of the three Women.

“She's already asking about a 'nick swap weekend.”” Mistress laughed at this, as She saw my reaction in the rearview mirror. “My sisters and I do that on occasion, as well as some close friends. Something else you'll get used to.” As W/we pulled into the driveway, She continued, “Lora talks more, but Pam is much, much rougher. But that's OK, after a weekend on Her leash, you'll be damned glad to be back here.”

Inside, Mistress sent me down to the basement, telling me She'd be down shortly. Unsure exactly what to do, I decided the safest course was to kneel beside my cage. From upstairs, I could hear Mistress moving around a bit, but otherwise had no way to judge the passing of time. Another lesson in patience. I tried to relax, to calm myself, to review the day … a long day. What had I learned? A lot. Could I endure this? I didn't seem to have much of a choice. All in all, Mistress seemed to care for me, capable of being very encouraging, willing to train me. I know it sounds odd, but in the grand scheme of things, I felt fortunate. In the chattelry, there had been little beside institutionalized humiliation, including the constant, close presence of other boys, a total lack of any sort of privacy. In comparison, here in Mistress's home there was a measure of personal attention and more personal space … though as I thought this, I had to remind myself that it was a cage and, like me, the cage was Her personal property.

My ruminations on my situation were interrupted by the sound of Mistress descending the stairs. Even with my head bowed, I could tell She had changed. Her feet were bare now and I could see the hem of a dark blue silk robe. Without saying a word to me, She lowered the rheostat, bringing down the light in the room and then threw the cloth covering over my cage. Then She gripped me by my hair and tugged me up, ordering “Over the cage, boy.” I had been fearing this, but felt no choice but to obey. “Arms out, tup.” Rather roughly, She buckled my wrists into cuffs that I had not even noticed near the corners of the cage top.

“You know what happens now, right?”

My voice was dry, nervous, breaking, hoarse when I replied. “Yes … I think so.”

“'Yes, Mistress,'” She corrected me, slapping me hard on my bottom. “You'd done so well today, tup, don't forget Your manners now. You really don't want to piss me off.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I responded, meekly.

Moving behind me, She gripped me by the hips and jerked me back roughly, stretching my arms against the cuffs and pulling my loins back from any contact with the cage or its cover. “Stay,” She ordered, unnecessarily, and crossed the room behind me. I could see almost nothing, other than shadows, in the low light. But I heard what sounded like the untying of a sash and the sound of Her robe being shrugged off. Then a cabinet being opened, items lifted and set down, a drawer pulled open, a general shuffling of something, the drawer shut, sounds of clasps, dressing, a small door closed. Then, crossing the room, the sound of Her bare feet as She moved to lower the lights even further. And I got a fleeting glimpse of Her, only fleeting, nude in the dimness of the basement, but jutting from Her hips, a large, bouncing, strap on She-cock.

Then She was behind me again, hands on my hips, Her feet urging mine further apart. “There are times I will be quite tender with you, tup. This is not one of those times. I'm going to take you hard tonight … roughly. You're going to feel what it's like to have Me inside you, fully inside you, using you like no one … no one … has ever used you before.” She slapped my bottom again, hard. “You need to understand, really understand, that I own this. OWN it. And this ...” She touched a finger to my puckered anus, eliciting a low groan from me … “I own this, too, this 'pussy.'” She paused a moment, shifting Her weight, touching the bulbous head of Her She-cock to my tight hole. “What is this, tup?”

I didn't respond, other than to try to relaxing, thinking Her question was rhetorical, a reaction to my tensing. It was not.

“I asked you a question, boy … what is this?” This obviously non-rhetorical question was accompanied by a harsh slap to my butt.

“A pussy, Mistress.” My words were groaned out, shamed.

“Yes, tup … a nice tight little pussy. And who owns this pussy?”

“You do, Mistress,” my words barely above a whisper.

“Louder,” She snapped.

“You do, Mistress,” I repeated, choking back a small sob, but definitely louder.

“Yes, I do,” Her tone softened, “... like I own every square inch of you.” Another pause. “And that gives me the right to use this pussy, doesn't it, tup?”

“Yes, Mistress.” For the first, but not the last time, my fingers clutched at the wire top of the cage, as She made me agree to my own rape.

“Good boy, yes it does. And you're not going to resist Me, are you, tup? Resist Me using what is justly and rightly mine?”

“No, Mistress.” She hadn't even really touched me yet, but already tears welled in my eyes at my shameful acceptance of what was about to happen

And that's the way my first day ended, taken hard by my new Owner. She used lube, so as not to hurt me too badly, but also spat onto my bottom, letting Her spittle drain down to my “pussy.” She was true to Her word. While there was no gratuitous violence, She did not spare me, gripping my hips tightly as She slid into me in a single, slow, sob-inducing push. Reaching under me to stroke my tummy, She whispered, “This is what it feels like, tup. Cry if you need to … but remember the feeling of me inside you … and get used to it.” And I did cry, in shame and pain, as She brought Herself to climax, fucking my ass, my “pussy.” She didn't say much else, other than “good boy” when She finally pulled out of me, unbuckling Her She-cock and letting it drop to the floor. She kicked the smeared strap on into my cage (“you'll sleep with that tonight”), put on Her robe, and unfastened my wrists, ordering me simply “in.”

After She'd secured the electric lock, She squatted down and looked at me for a minute. She was flushed, Her hair a bit disheveled. I'm sure I looked worse, tear stains on my cheeks, sore body curled uncomfortably. “I'm pleased, tup, very pleased. I believe I made a good choice in you. Get some rest now. Tomorrow won't be any easier for you … but, the days soon will be, as you accept that this is your life.” With that, She covered my cage, turned out the light, and ended my first day.