This story is F/m set in a world where women hold most of the power. If you don't like that theme, this story isn't for you.

Just something I wrote while bored one evening. I haven't ever attempted writing a story before this. I find writing in a conversational style rather entertaining, so it might read a little strangely. A lot of it is like a flurry of thoughts of the narrator put to paper. There aren't any graphic descriptions of sexual acts in the story.

I've tried to create a setting for the story that is as internally consistent as possible. Tried to provide reasons for why things are the way they are in the world of the story. I don't like plot holes and things that detract from immersion into the story, so if you find any please let me know. The story is complete fiction of course, and no attempts are made at any kind of commentary on any current issues. Also, the narrator is a completely fictional character and has her own biases and flaws and is even a bit of a bigot in the story's setting. She is not meant to be a sympathetic character.

Thoughtful Afternoon

"The male reproductive system follows a cycle of fifteen days. The body takes the first seven to eight days to clear out the sperm cells from the previous cycle, whose effectiveness starts to decrease after the peak in the last cycle. Simultaneously, the testicles start building newer cells, but they aren't ready to be released into the ejaculate until the previous cells are discarded. After the initial period of roughly a week, the new cells are ready to be delivered. The male is at his most fertile for the next seven to eight days, at the end of which the cycle starts again. The sperm cells are mixed with the ejaculate and carried by it into the female's reproductive system."

"The female produces one, or in quite a few cases, more than one, eggs every thirty days. The female reproductive canal's environment is very hostile to the sperm cells from the male and only extremely few cells manage to reach the egg. The outer membrane of the web reacts with the sperm cell upon contact. If the sperm is sufficiently genetically diverse from the female's own cells, the membrane breaks down the sperm cell into genetic matter that can be contained within the membrane and can later be used to fertilize the egg if the female's body wishes to. Similarly, if the egg receives different sperm cells from another male on the same egg, the membrane breaks that cell down too and contains it within the membrane as another set of genetic matter. And so on. If the sperm cells are not sufficiently genetically diverse enough from the female's own cells, they are rejected. This is one of the reasons why people related to each other can't produce children. It takes at least four to five generations for people descending from the same lineage to be diverse enough to reproduce."

"The egg is available to receive the cells over a period of roughly thirty days, after which it moves into the fertilization chamber. The female is made aware of this stage by a slightly uncomfortable internal swelling around the muscles of the fertilization chamber. She can then choose to fertilize the egg or discard it. If she chooses to fertilize it, the egg picks out the best copies of the required genes from where they are stored in the membrane and fertilizes itself. This decision to fertilize the egg is communicated through a series of muscles within the chamber. Likewise, the decision to discard the egg is communicated through another set of internal muscles. If the female chooses not to do either, the egg is discarded after a period of two days. The ovaries then release another egg to take its place."

"The gestation period is two months, during which time the female can choose to discard the embryo at any time. The child, or children, in case more than one egg is fertilized or the fertilized egg splits into more than one emryo, is birthed at the end of the gestation period."

"In theory, both sexes are fertile throughout their lives, but practically a male past forty rarely has any sperm cells that can survive within a female, and a female past fifty is highly likely to produce offspring with defects or embryos that can't survive the gestation period."

"That, is a summary of the human reproductive system. A more thorough description of the process is available in your text books. Please go through it, and you will be quizzed on the topic and the previous two chapters at the end of the week."

"Miss Cato...."

"MISS CATO...."

"DRUSILLA!!"

...."Huh—uh..." "huh.... Yes Miss Hurley?"

"Can you tell me what conditions must be fulfilled for successful fertilization to take place?"

"Er....uhm... both the male and the female must be fertile....... to... ensure fertilization?"

She screwed up her face, which made her look even uglier than she already was. She then went on to lecture me about my daydreaming. About my languid demeanour. About my uniform's tie being too loose, and other quibbles about my punctuality, my insolence, blah blah blah yak yak..

My name is Drusilla Cato. I attend a fancy private school where I am an eleventh grade high school student. It's quite a snooty school, but they prioritize merit and cover a lot of your expenses if you are unable to. My family is very middle-class. I got in because I am a good student. Yes..., despite what just happened back there in class. I am a good student, just not a very diligent one. I study when I want to and ace the tests just fine. Much to the chagrin of the teachers.

They make us wear uniforms, but at least that has one advantage. All the eye candy on display... The uniforms are similar for both sexes, but the boys typically get theirs fitted quite tight and form-fitting. Most of them are air-headed dicks, but they're nice to look at. The uniform is grey trousers with a white shirt, a green striped tie and a green jacket. Green is kind of the school colour. Maybe the founder was a leprechaun. I live in Britain. It's a nice enough country. Pretty big on equality and stuff. We even let boys vote. Gave them the vote twenty years ago. Can't say I approve of that development, but I guess it expands the voter base of the politicians. A lot of other countries are still pretty traditional. To varying degrees.

By traditional I mean keeping boys in their place. Keeping them enslaved, that is. And I'm not talking euphemistically. Some places around the world still have legal slave markets. Women can buy as many boys as they can afford off those. Of course, so can various institutions and the state. Somebody needs to keep doing the drab public works jobs and farming and mining and whatnot.

See that's how the "natural" order of things is, or was. Women say fucking multiple boys is good for producing very healthy offspring. If I'd paid attention in that biology class, I might have understood exactly why that is the case. I can see the wisdom in what the women say, though. I certainly feel like I could hump every boy in sight. Well, unless he is supremely ugly. Or really old. But anyway, the point is we need more boys for healthier offspring, and we need them to take care of the offspring. And more boys means more help, not just with children but also other things that need doing. Important day-to-day work, you know. Cleaning, cooking, taking care of the woman when she is nursing newborns, working on the family farm in the old days, working on gardening and repair around the house these days, and other things like that. Which frees up the women to do more womanly work outside the home. Protecting their nation, teaching the new generation, charting the path of civilization, and other similar work to advance humanity.

So for a woman, more boys are always welcome. They tend to bring their melodrama and nagging ways but back in the day, you could just teach them a lesson to make them shut up and do as they were told. Unfortunately, the boys weren't happy with this arrangement. They didn't want to share with the other boys and they didn't want to work due to their typical boyish laziness. So they had to be convinced, with a few tools, like sharp things, and whips, and shackles. But that also meant women fighting each other to get as many.... partners for themselves. And that meant constant conflict.

We; I mean, my country, sort of held up monogamy as the ideal a thousand years ago. Yeah, some of the rich old hags and their brats have always had a collection of hot boys, but for the common woman, monogamy was as good as it got. In fact, according to certain historians, monogamy was introduced to end the constant fighting over resources, and boys. Powerful women hoarded up all the boys and plebs had to be content with sweet self-love. Or you know, take in a shrivelled up old boy discarded by his mistress. Or take up arms and snatch the wealth and boys from the nobles. The last option was quite popular.

Monogamy meant a boy to lord over for each woman and have a family. And less conflict. Which worked well for a long time. A woman got a boy to have and raise a family, her boy got a woman who dedicated her attention and resources only to him. Apparently, boys were shorter than women before that. They had to fight for the woman's favour and it wasn't a guaranteed commodity. So while they were strong enough for the grunt work, they were not as big as the women. But monogamy meant having the complete favour of one woman and the opportunity to share everything she had. So the boys had a better guarantee of resources and could flourish physically too and catch up with women on physical growth. Some of the modern day slave-trading countries still have boys, on average, shorter than the women.

They didn't have to go all the way and emancipate the ingrates though. The boys were getting a family, a woman dedicated to them and a peaceful life without the threat of being passed around from one victorious warlady to another. But no. They weren't happy. They pouted and stamped their feet and generally created a fuss, as they are typically wont to do, and demanded to not be their mistress's property anymore and be free from threat of harm from her. And a few stupid leaders gave in to them. Obviously, this meant that they were no longer scared of their mistress's anger and frequently disobeyed her. This was around fifty years ago, and things have only been going downhill since then. Now they can even elect our leaders and run for leadership themselves. Thank the gods that because of their behaviour more and more women are realizing their mistake and longing for the good old days. Diana Primus, who ran for Senate Chair last year, gained a lot of support even if she didn't win. She is for disenfranchising boys and returning them to being under full control of their female guardian. They are resisting her now that they have the vote, but I'm sure we can come up with something that'll convince them it's in their best interests to assume their traditional role and responsibilities.

Boys are also a bit messed in the head. It's quite hard to coax one into bed. But after they do it, they start to catch feelings. And want to set up house with you. And want children, and to take care of the children. And drive away any other piece of arse you might want, or the other piece of arse wants to drive away the first one and take his place. But only until he "falls in love" with some other bitch. Then he starts pining for her and forget all about you. So. Much. Drama. Why can't they just share? They do it for a rockstar or powerful politician. They are all over her tits. More than one of them. But for an average girl... noooo it's me or him with us.

I am an average girl. Being awkward and generally ordinary looking does that to you. The spectacles don't help, and neither does the short, cadet-approved bob of brunette hair. If it hadn't been for the military cadet programme I joined at the school, I would never have filled out my frame either. I am five feet and ten inches tall. Lankiness just didn't suit me. And I'm only sixteen, there may be a kick left in my body yet that'll leave me even taller by the time I'm an adult. My father is an inch taller than me and a good four inches taller than my mother. So I probably got that from him. Now at least I have some pretty good muscle tone from the cadet programme to make me look more normal. Also gets me some attention. A little more than I got before at least. Fickle creatures that boys are.

I've done a few of them tarts good and proper. OK...OK, done one. And he got scared and ran away when I treated him a bit rough in bed. Well, outside the bed too sometimes. Shame. He was quite the hottie. Blonde, had a nice body, no fat anywhere except some in his very destroyable arse. And really, really smooth skin. I like smooth skin. He was a couple years older, and about an inch shorter. It felt so good to treat him like a mere boy. It wasn't like I just got rough with him right away. I sunk three months into getting him to that stage. Being all gentle and lovey-dovey and stuff at first, then adding in a forceful kiss here, a subtle insult there and a playful swat elsewhere. I guess I got too excited and pushed too quickly. Maybe his reactions were misleading. I know he was hard as granite when I'd bite or pinch him. Their bodies don't lie. But he took off anyway. Don't know what's in that pretty head of his. Three months is a lot of time. Better I just find a boy who knows that he likes being treated roughly.

Speaking of being rough with boys, there goes that prissy arsehole Crispian Tweedy. He's in some of my classes. He's in tenth grade but got bumped up for a few classes because he is "such a good student", according to the teachers. Look at him fawning all over Miss Quest, our English teacher. Acting like a fucking chirpy twit. He'd probably be willing to choke himself to death with her cunt if she promised to bump his grade. Actually, he is such a brown noser I'm positive he has rimmed the entire faculty by now. The fucking goody-two-shoes, sanctimonious, arse-kissing, toady bastard. I hate him. Hate him soooo fucking much! Hate him so much that I want to beat the living piss out of him. He needs it. All boys need it, but this one is just begging for it. And I'll give it to him. Thrash him good and proper. Thrash him with the foot-long ruler I have in my bag right now. Thrash him with my fat military-issue belt. Thrash him with a cane like the one teachers use. Thrash him with a whip. One of those big ones that go SWOOSH! And then WHACK! Followed by a looooong sweet wail of pain... Swoosh whack aaaaahhhh, swoosh whack aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh! SWOOSHWHACKSWOOSHWHACKSWOOSHWHACK followed by no wailing because his throat is now sore and hoarse with all the screaming so despite the strained lungs and voice box, not much sound comes out. But then he can cry. Because the beating is not going to stop. Cry. Sob. Weep. Bawl. Until he's learned his lesson to not be such an arse-kisser. Or, if he does want to continue kissing arse, I can supply him with some. One of these days Crispian. One of these days.

Yes, I like to beat boys. Not in the "I'm a woman so I will put you in your place" kind of beating. But the "HEAVENLY BITCH VENUS!! I'M GUSHING MY CUNT OVER HIS SCREAMS WHILE I TENDERIZE HIM LIKE THE PIECE OF MEAT HE IS" kind of beating. I don't know where I got it from. But there seem to be lots of people like me out there. If the videos and the smut stories are anything to go by. I'm a connoisseur of those, of course. And the internet chat rooms. In those chat rooms, I'm twenty four years old. My parents raised me well.

My parents are... unremarkable would be the word, I guess, to describe them. Living in suburbia and having a house with a lawn and a yard and all that stuff. My mother's name is Julia Cato. She works your typical middle-management job at some company that sells cars. It bores her, and is one of the reasons she's usually in a bad mood. Max Cato, is my father's name. He can sometimes be another reason for mum's bad mood. Dad is like, well, he's kind of oblivious to the world and lives in his own happy bubble. He is optimism personified. To the point of irritation sometimes. He teaches at the local primary school. He has a job and all, so he thinks he is one of these go-getting modern boys. Bless his heart. I love him though. He's always been a very loving father. I'm also an only child. Which means no other kids to share my stuff with. I like it like that.

Mum loses her patience with Dad sometimes. Often, actually. Not just sometimes. I can understand. His naive cluelessness can have that effect. Sometimes, their arguments get so heated that my mum has to slap him. I've seen my mum slap my dad many times since I was a child. And seen other women give their partners a swat in public. It's quite common, but these days it's considered old-fashioned and barbaric to treat your boy like that. If that's barbaric, I don't know what they'd call all the stuff that I'm just itching to do.

It was probably one of these arguments between my parents made me realize my love of delivering pain. I remember this incident when I was around eleven years of age. They were arguing about something, I forget what. Probably dad's overspending. I wasn't really paying attention. And I turned my head in their direction at the exact moment when mum laid a sound slap on his face. I had seen it happen many times before, but this time something felt different. I couldn't link it to anything sexual but I just remember having that scene in my head for the whole week after that. The whole scene as it played out. Mum's hand moving through the air, dad recoiling because he instinctively knows what's coming, and then SLLLLAPPP!! and his body shaking from the sting of the slap at the exact moment when her hand has pressed furthest into his face. Over and over. I also remember being quite horny that week, but then I am generally horny anyway so didn't make the connection then. But that image stayed with me. I still remember it as if it were yesterday.

The time I really knew I wanted to hurt boys was during a similar situation. Another argument. I was seated in the living room and could see my parents arguing in their bedroom through the open door. This one, I recall, was about dad suspecting my mum of bonking some other boy, and his jealousy. Now, mum is forty. And fat. Overweight I should say, because she is miles from being a whale. But still, she isn't hot stuff. At all. I totally believed her when she told him how stupid he was being. And how ungrateful, and a vain little tart past his prime and many other lovely things....

Then I realized that my panties were soaked. But what was unfolding needed more attention. Dad was crying just from her berating him. It was beautiful. I was so horny, my cunt was practically screaming to be touched. But I wanted to keep watching. Dad was still trying to keep the argument going. And then it happened. My mum let him have it. She raised her right arm across her body, then with the back of her hand laid a resounding slap on his face. A proper back-handed pimp slap. The sound of the impact rang through my head and went straight to my loins, and I just came. Just like that. And the orgasm kept going, and going, and going. I don't know for how many minutes, but it felt like ages. When I regained my senses, they were still talking. In much more hushed tones and much more gently, but mum still laying it down to him about how difficult he was being. And he was just listening, and letting a sniffle out every now and then.

I was still shaking a little. It was good that they were still occupied with their own litte argument. It would've been really embarrassing to be seen shuddering from the orgasm out there on the living room sofa. I made a quick retreat to my own room. Still tingly all over. I wanted to touch myself so bad. Keep myself in that bliss as much as I could. But those were my parents. It was gross to imagine them in my head while I got myself off. Or at least I thought so at the time. So I imagined another boy who was in my class back then, Jimmy Dahlin. Jimmy was the kind who just seemed to be begging for a thrashing too, now that I think about it. Shame I could never give him what he so justly deserved. I imagined him being in my dad's place. And some other nameless figure of a woman in my mum's place. I didn't know at the time if I wanted to do the slapping myself. I just knew I wanted to think of some woman soundly slapping a boy, over and over and over, and I wanted to get myself off thinking about that. And I did. Again, and again. A few times, the image of my dad slipped in to take Jimmy's place. And that'd freak me out and make me stop. But I'd just consciously re-imagine Jimmy in that place and keep myself going. I made myself sore from masturbating long into the night that day, trying to hold on to and keep the feeling I got from my parents' argument going as long as I could.

That was in my head for weeks, months even. I couldn't look at my parents without that image popping up in my head. And I'd get myself off to that image frequently. At first it was Jimmy and the nameless woman. Then Jimmy started to fade out and my dad started to show up in his place. It was disgusting, yes. But not enough to make me stop my blissful fantasy. That kept happening over and over. I'd imagine Jimmy, but by the time I came, dad would be in his place. Always. Then my mum started creeping into the fantasy too because well, dad's already there, so why not have his face battered by my mum? In a few days, the fantasy in my head became indistinguishable from the scene I witnessed that day.

I was already a porn fiend back then. Having your own computer and the privacy of your room tends to facilitate that. But I didn't want porn anymore. Sure, some of it was nice. But I had a new fantasy in my head apart from just fucking boys. I looked for pictures of boys being slapped, and I found many. A lot of those were stills from movie scenes and such. I loved this particular one in which this prim-and-proper woman is slapping some boy at a bar and his drink is flying out of his mouth. I wanted to do something like that someday. But, in finding pictures and clips of boys being slapped, I ran into some that went further than just slapping. I remember this clip I found where a quite young boy of around eighteen is being slapped and yelled at by a woman not much older than himself. Then, after slapping him, she picks up what looks like a very short whip and proceeds to beat him with it. I saw that clip so many times it was all I would think of all hours of the day. I recently found it again and re-watched it. It's really quite tame. I can't believe that turned me on so much back then. The boy isn't even reacting all that well to the pain, and it's not so much a whipping as it is light tapping with a whip. Lame. But at the time it was the pinnacle of eroticism for me.

Then, it was just a hop and a skip to bigger whips, longer canes, spiky things you could apply to a boy's body. Hot wax, cigarettes, fire. Needles. Even knives. Stories that went from spanking a boyfriend to outright choking him to death while you have the biggest orgasm of your life. Scary, I know. It was to me too, at the time. But I couldn't stop looking. Every time after I'd masturbated myself silly to a particularly disturbing story or video, I'd resolve to never look at that kind of "filth" (as I referred to it then) again. But every now and then, I felt a mood to see and read stuff like that. And I would indulge myself. Eventually, I understood that there is a difference between fantasy and reality, so the guilt went away. I spent a lot of hours looking up porn. Still do, actually. When I'm in one of those moods.

Eventually, most of my fantasies had me delivering some pain in them. Loads of people made an appearance in those fantasies. My young schoolteacher. He was so bubbly and enthusiastic. I wondered how much enthusiasm he'd show for receiving what I had for him. That boy in school who had a crapton of piercings. I could really have fun with those. And give him a few more souvenirs. That kid who asked me for directions on his first day of high school. I should have kidnapped him right then. Should've misled him to the deserted stairway at the back of the workshop classes. Then, just nab him. He was a boy anyway, so I'd be stronger. Boys are almost the same height and proportion as the women, but women's bones and muscle are a lot more denser. We need it for carrying kids and fighting with other women. Boys only need it for slave work. Toiling on farms and such. Or that's what they were usually used for. And for carrying things. Lots of stamina, but not a lot of power. And that's just great. You need good stamina to take a nice beating. The kid would be surprised that we stopped near a deserted stairway. Then he'd be on the ground with his mouth gagged with my scarf and his hands tied with my necktie. Then he'd get a few solid hard puches and kicks, just to show what could happen if he ratted to anyone. Then I'd find out where he lived from his school ID. He'd have no place to go to avoid me. And then I'd threaten him with more beatings if he didn't show up to the deserted places I'd call him to. Where he would of course be made into what he really was all along. A boy to be taken advantage of. If I had my own house, which I don't, most sixteen year olds don't, I'd probably just chain him up in it. And he'd never leave.

My dad showed up in my fantasies too. You know that mum-dad slap porn I told you about before. Yeah. At times, I started appearing in place of my mum. Yes, I am a total degenerate. But I just wanted to imagine how it would feel, you know. My dad is actually pretty good looking for his age. He's almost thirty four, but can still turn heads, and I've seen pictures of his younger self. He was a knockout back then. He still keeps himself in very good shape. And he cries so beautifully when my mum treats him bad. I'd imagine me slapping and berating him like my mum and him breaking down into tears. Then I'd threaten to beat him if he didn't stop his bawling. Which of course, in my fantasy, he never could. Then for being such an irritating whiner, he would get stripped and beaten with this sweet whip like the ones they use for controlling dogs. Until he was all welty, and red and bloody with all these lovely criss-cross patterns on him. And I'd be absolutely in heaven. Well, he is a hot boy. So he could do with a bit of treatment like that. Just to bring him back down to his place. He can be a bit vain. Of course, I'd never do it in real life. It'd just be gross, and I love my dad, in non creepy ways. I get along with him very well and he treats me very kindly and he's raised me so well. My parents may not be the perfect couple, but I'm very happy with them.

I thought my mum would like the stuff that I like too. Maybe it ran in the family. But it doesn't. I looked. There was this time I was obsessed with finding out if my mum did indeed beat my dad for pleasure. But I found nothing. I sneaked into their room and ransacked almost everything. No sign of any sexy implements. I searched the whole house. Many times over. Nothing. I would also at times listen by their bedroom door when I woke up at midnight for a drink or snack. Nothing. No shouting, no screaming. A bit of moaning a couple times, but that just sounded like regular sex. Equally disgusting. My parents having sex, ugh. I was actually a bit disappointed that my parents were so boring.

They say there are communities of people who like what I like out there. And they arrange to meet up through the internet and er... have fun, when they can. They usually insist on the participants being adults. But it's not like they're going to ask for ID. Yeah. Maybe I could sneak in. I have to. At least to find a willing boy. As hot as I think kidnapping one and doing all sorts of things to him for my selfish pleasure is, it is also illegal. It wasn't so a hundred years ago in this country, but it is now. I was born a hundred years too late. And I don't have a place to torture the meat without any interruption. Too much of a young student for sex tourism too.

I'll do it. I'll find some boys over the net. I don't think the young hot ones are going to agree to let me do things to them easily. They are usually in such high demand that they can afford to charge women to use them. Of course, the tables are turned when they get older, because who wants to beat an old boy? Then they are so willing to pay for the treatment. I don't need the money though, and I don't want to spend it either. Not like I have much to spend anyway. But looking online is worth a shot. I'll put up a personal ad. Have a picture of myself in my cadet uniform. Boys love that sort of thing. Won't show my face, but will promise a proper savaging. I seem to be among the more extreme sort. Some seek that. Don't have all the stuff I'd like to use; can't walk into a sex shop yet, and some of the stuff I want is downright mediaeval which I doubt is even available on the market. But the basics, I guess I could cover those. Ropes, canes, some cool stuff from my cadet supplies, clothespins, my belt with the huge buckle, I just have to use that; my loving and tender hands, teeth, knowledge of a few nerve endings.... That should cover at least a few preliminary beatings. I'm hardly likely to start with the full treatment for someone I just met, as much as I'd like to go crazy. Also, don't want the boy to run away. At least until I have him properly restrained...

Wish me luck!