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In a matriarchal dystopia, the weakest men become the maids
I realized I was going to lose the wrestling match the moment I got an erection.
I had already failed the strength trial so there was no way I would be given a typical male work placement in a mine or a construction site.
I had nearly performed well enough on the scholastic tests to qualify for a rare male college admission, but fallen just a few points shy.
And so my last hope of avoiding a life of domestic servitude was to win a wrestling match.
The state government wanted to ensure that any man who entered the domestic worker program was as docile as a kitten. If an average woman could subdue them in a ring that was proof enough.
And that’s how I found myself staring at a female college student wearing a singlet.
She looked better in it than I did. Nicer curves, more toned legs even.
Hair up, no blush, no eyeliner. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a little perspiration on her temples. It wasn’t her first match.
She was maybe an inch of two taller than me.
Cute in an unconventional way.
“Hey, listen,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper as we circled one another at the start of the match. “I need to lose a few matches here and there or they’ll think I’m too good to be a test wrestler. I can go easy on you if you like?”
Hell yes.
I had no desire to wear a stupid maid outfit for some rich family.
I glanced over at the referee, and the audience beyond her.
“Sure,” I whispered back and nodded my head eagerly in case she hadn’t heard me.
“Alright let’s do this.”
I had never fought a girl before.
It felt wrong, laying my hands on a woman. But I don’t think she felt the same way.
By the time I grabbed onto her shoulder for a good grip, I was already halfway to being thrown on the ground. Once there I managed to get a feeble grip on her thigh and tried to keep things under control.
And it was a nice thigh. Soft flesh under my fingers, taut muscles flexing beneath the skin.
But it wasn’t the time for that.
We rolled around. First she was on top, and then I flipped her over, before she quickly got back on me again.
When exactly was she going to start losing?
She managed to pin both of my wrists above my head and her ponytail dangled in front of me, tickling my nose.
It smelled like sweat and lavender.
I thrashed around and was surprised at her grip.
It was just then that I felt the tingle in my crotch.
Fuck.
When dealing with an unwanted boner, few items of clothing will offer less modesty than a wrestling singlet.
I tried to think of something else.
I needed to focus on not losing.
But as I writhed beneath her I realized that she was much stronger than I was, and that losing was the source of my arousal.
I liked being dominated by women, as it turns out.
What a moment for self-discovery.
“Sorry,” she whispered, “I can’t lose to someone this weak. They’ll look at your weightlifting scores and know I wasn’t trying.”
She licked her lips as she spoke, making her apology a little less convincing.
My dick was definitely hard now. Not growing – just all the way grown up.
I heard the referee begin a countdown and twisted my hips, managing to dislodge her long enough to reset the timer.
I rolled onto my stomach, extending the match and hiding the bulge in my singlet.
I felt like a turtle trying to keep its belly on the ground. She tried a few ways to turn me over, eventually entangling me with her legs and flipping me back again.
“You’re hard,” she smiled down at me as she tried to force my shoulders to the mat a second time. “Like a baby carrot,” she winked. “It’s alright. I like making boys like you hard.”
Hearing this did not help my situation.
“It feels good knowing I gave them the last erection they might have for months. Maybe years.”
Okay she had definitely been toying with me.
My cock twitched as she taunted me and I wondered if she felt it.
If she did, she didn’t dwell on it, instead taking the opportunity to pounce forward, pinning my biceps beneath her knees.
She had me irreversibly pinned, amd was absolutely casual about it.
I heard the referee start the slow, drawn out countdown.
“Three,” shouted the referee.
My face was inches away from her crotch. I glanced at it and then back up at her face looking down at me.
“This is my favorite way to end a match,” she smiled serenely as I thrashed my lower body underneath her. “But I can’t pull it off on everyone.”
“Two.”
“Easier on boys like you. Pretty face, small body.”
My arms ached underneath her hard knees, but I could not move.
“One.”
“Ladies love your type for maids. I hope she dolls you up nice. Whoever she ends up being.”
I finally went limp just in time to hear the referee declare, “Match finished.”
She eased back above me, but stayed perched over my face.
“It was nice meeting you Taylor. Maybe I’ll bursa escort bayan see you again, serving appetizers at some dinner party. If the hostess is okay with it, I’d like to pick up where we left off. I love having my way with boys like you.”
Then she stood and walked off, leaving me to walk back to the change room in defeat.
***
If you lose the match, that’s it.
There is no appeal and no wasted time. You go to the showers first, and then a fitting room.
Your chastity cage is sized, tested and secured with a tiny padlock.
It’s a transparent plastic, a temporary device until the preferred color and style of your mistress, whoever that will be, can be ordered in.
I stared at my little cock as the nurse iced it down and stuffed it in its plastic chamber. I entertained a passing moment of Schadenfreude towards to it.
“If you hadn’t betrayed me, maybe I would have won the match.” I imagined saying to it. “Look at where it got you” I mumbled as it filled the confines of its new prison.
I knew this had always been a possibility.
Even if the government hadn’t forced chastity on me, it was likely that a girlfriend or wife would insist on it later.
But that felt like it would be more of my choosing. A worthwhile exchange for a loving relationship.
Now there was no hope of having a girlfriend or a family and I was being forcefully cut off from accessing part of my own body. I felt a pinching pain deep in my gut that this was wrong and unfair.
But there was little time to bemoan my misfortune.
I was off to the show room, literally being led on the end of a leash that clipped onto my padlock.
I found myself standing on one of many small pedestals, wearing nothing but that clear plastic cage, as dozens of women filed past, looking at potential maids.
“Don’t hide those beautiful blue eyes honey,” an attendant advised with a prod when I tried to ignore the procession of female shoppers.
I was used to being touched – our finishing school chastity classes were co-ed – but even so, it was unnerving having middle aged women approach you so casually only to immediately weigh your testicles in their hand as if they were at a meat market.
More unnerving still was the idea that any one of these women could purchase me for their household.
Some of the women carried clipboards, others jotted notes on their phones, deciding if they would interview me later.
I recognized a mom of one of my wealthier classmates.
“Hi Taylor, I like your outfit,” she said as she got closer.
I smiled back, deciding immediately that I didn’t want to serve in her house. I could be rude, but if you put off enough customers there’s always a chance you aren’t sold and await an even worse fate. I settled for being awkward instead.
“Hi Ms Nance,” I mumbled.
“Jenny, come over here,” the woman called to her daughter who was inspecting some other soon-to-be serf.
I’m not sure if I was blushing furiously or if all color had drained out of my face.
Jenny emerged from behind a pack of nearby women and giggled in surprise.
“Oh Hi Taylor.”
“Hi Jenny.”
No eye contact from me. I might not be allowed to close my eyes, but I could definitely look away.
“We saw you got a little excited during the match,” Jenny said.
“We thought it was endearing” her mother added. “It’s good when boys like losing to women,” she added.
“Thank you ma’am” I managed to say.
“Have you seen it in class?” Jenny’s mother asked her, motioning at my locked penis. “Is it as small as it looks?”
I continued staring intently at the ground like there was some sort of crossword down there I needed to solve.
“Yeah I think it was the smallest in our cohort.”
No meanness in the tone, just factual.
“I kind of like that for a maid, don’t you think?” Her mother moved my cage side to side as she inspected me.
“Yeah, I guess.” Apparently Jenny hadn’t given it much thought until now. “It would feel like a bit of a waste otherwise.”
“Your aunt had a maidservant with a huge penis once. Really disproportionate to his little body. She used to show it off like some sort of novelty. I suspect she may have actually used it herself on occassion. Sort of poor taste if you ask me.”
“Agreed,” Jenny said.
“So would you consider having a former classmate as a maid?” Her mother asked.
“I wouldn’t be bothered by it. This one would be easy to control.”
“Oh?”
“Veronica was his keyholder in class when we did the three week chastity trial. She unlocked him for cleanings and all that. She said when she didn’t let him cum he was already begging before the end of the first week. But she just kept denying him and apparently he kept going down on her to try and earn his freedom.”
“Was he any good?”
“I think the word she used was ‘over-eager’.”
“And if we brought him home, do you think you would use him?”
Jenny looked me up and down as she considered it.
“Hmm, only bursa escort sitesi if you didn’t want him.”
Her mother smiled. “Well, let’s have a look at a few more candidates. We don’t need to buy anything today if we don’t want.”
“It was good to see you,” Jenny smiled brushing her hand against my arm before gracefully leading her mother to their next potential interviewee.
I always found it impressive how casual women could be around naked men. No matter how long I spent in that vulnerable position it never ceased to lend them an aura of power.
But there are some women who never get used to it.
One such woman stood out to me from that showcase session.
A cute, half-Asian college girl, unaccompanied by any parent or partner. She was wearing a plaid skirt, a blue, knitted cardigan and a matching headband. I glanced at her full breasts as she approached and immediately looked away when I saw that she had caught my gaze.
Her outfit was well put together, but not particularly expensive, which made me wonder how she expected to purchase anyone at all.
She was wearing glasses, the kind that are fashionable at the moment, but perched them on her head when she got closer.
She didn’t say anything, but looked a little nervous. Maybe she knew she was out of place.
Most of the prospective buyers would feel you up a little bit at this stage. Poke your arm, maybe squeeze your ass and so on. She approached tentatively, and walked around me in a circle. Then she reached out her hand as if to cup my balls, before withdrawing it suddenly with a blush.
Her face in that moment was particularly adorable. Small round lips, a cute button nose, and big dark eyes that stuck in my memory.
But I had little time to admire her before she turned and left.
The showcase continued for another hour, leaving the afternoon for interviews.
“Would you be comfortable managing a large house?”
“Have you ever cooked for high-end guests?”
“Do you have any reservations about being shared among female friends?”
It was a slog. Middle aged women, matronly women, pearl necklaces and pantyhose.
Near the end of the first day, that young, half-Asian woman walked in alone.
“Hi, my name is Lucy.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Taylor.”
There was a pause. I was being sold into servitude and wasn’t about to lead any conversations unless I really thought this was a house I wanted to end up in.
“So… are you feeling okay? Did she hurt you?”
“The nurse? She was a little rough I suppose but…”
“No during the wrestling match. I was watching, I wondered if it hurt?”
I had to think back. Pain hadn’t been my biggest concern at the time.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” I said, pleasantly surprised.
She looked like she was deciding on her next question. She tucked her long black hair behind her ears, and I noticed for the first time that they stuck out a little. It was a quaint flaw that somehow made her more appealing. I guess because she seemed more down to earth.
“Maybe, could you tell me about yourself then?” she asked.
I mentioned the basics, 19 years old, only child, and so on.
“Hobbies?” she persisted.
These were not the usual questions I can assure you.
“Umm… I have this weird thing where I like to make tiny figurines. I paint them, put outfits on them.”
“Oh like for dollhouses?” she perked up.
“Yeah actually. I have sold a few to people who use them in dollhouses. Honestly I don’t usually go around talking about it. People think I’m strange if I mention it.”
“Well I love costumes and outfits. I always wish I had a younger sister to dress up. Maybe it’s kind of similar.”
I nodded. “So, are you not going to ask about my cooking?”
She laughed. “Well they have a file on you,” she indicated some loose papers she was holding. “Excellent grades in culinary arts, and honestly I’m not a picky eater.”
“Not a picky eater, not wearing expensive clothing… what are you doing buying a maidservant?”
“I’m in between degrees and starting an internship.”
Okay, so only a little older than me.
“And I won a government grant to support promising young women so they can focus on their careers.”
“Congratulations,” I said with only a trace of bitterness.
“Thanks,” she replied. “So I do have one last question.”
“Go for it.”
“What’s your libido like?”
I squinted, wondering what her ideal answer was, and still evaluating if I’d rather be her servant than work for an elderly woman in a knock-off Palace of Versailles.
“Average.”
“So you masturbate like once a week?”
“Once a day,” I estimated conservatively. “At least until today.”
“Hmm,” she said, perhaps reconsidering her assumptions on what was average. “I just ask because I will expect my servant to stay in chastity, but I’m not much of a disciplinarian if they start acting up. In general I also just find penises to be sort of distasteful.”
This was a big red flag. Like the kind of flag you’d see at a communist parade.
There was a saying men sometimes whispered to eachother: ‘never settle for a woman who likes your cage more than your cock’.
But then again, this woman was really, really cute.
“You must have hated taking chastity class before going to college. It’s pretty hands-on.”
“I was homeschooled.”
Okay, I thought, maybe she’s just a bit innocent then. She could probably get used to dicks if she gave them a chance.
Dicks can grow on you after all. Mine grows on me all the time.
I glanced again, almost involuntarily, at the swell of her breasts under the cardigan. If I was her maidservant, there was a good chance I’d see them. Even just if she asked me to hand her something when she’s in the shower.
I made a flash decision, which may have been more about boobs than it should have been.
Lucy was cute, and thoughtful. A little nerdy and awkward, and I might not get to orgasm as frequently with her, but I was going to take the risk.
“Lucy, I’m going to level with you. I don’t like rich people. I’m not a rich person. If I was I wouldn’t be here. But I like you. I like that you’re a hard worker. And I want to be on Team Lucy.”
She flashed a grin (what a smile she had), and so I kept going.
“If you need me to do dishes or cook or go shopping – I’ll do those things. But I have a good head on my shoulders, so I can run your finances and maybe even edit your papers or memos or whatever you need.”
She was beaming now. I laid it on thick.
“And you don’t need to worry about me trying to escape from chastity. I’m a good boy. And I’m sorry if I was a little abrasive for a second there. I’ve had a bad day, but I’ll handle my emotions better in the future.”
She bit her lip and my heart fluttered. Later I would realize this was her signature move.
“My grant is only enough for a three year contract,” she said. “But if nobody else outbids me, I think this could work out.”
***
Lucy’s internship was on the other side of the country.
Goodbye ma, goodbye pa!
At least I wouldn’t have to explain to anyone I knew that I had ended up at the very bottom of the social ladder.
When we arrived at Lucy’s new apartment, a large government issued package was waiting for us in the entryway.
I opened the box I found a variety of women’s clothing: dresses, skirts, high heels and so on. My heart sank.
“Lucy, what are these for?” I asked, my palms already sweating as I held up a pinafore to the light.
“They’re for you silly. A maid needs a uniform.”
I hesitated, wanting to approach this carefully.
“You never mentioned this before. It’s kind of an old fashioned approach, don’t you think?” I tried to tread lightly.
Of course I knew many male servants were forced to wear a French maid uniform around the workplace, some even in public, but it was usually a sort of status symbol. The owner really wanted you to know that they owned a maid, and not one that was an efficient cleaner or cook, but a luxury item who could wear high heels around the house and orally please your wealthy guests.
I thought I had avoided this by ending up with Lucy.
“You don’t like it?” She sounded disappointed. “Listen it’s just for around the house, to get you psychologically settled into your new role.”
She sorted through the outfits, selecting a tulle skirt, white stockings and a corset.
“Start with these. Just try them on for your first day. It will be fun. You know I like dress up.”
I swallowed hard and she saw my hand tremble slightly.
She gently layed her hand on mine and steadied it. “Listen, I know some of the women who make their maidservants wear these are quite harsh. I won’t be like that. I will never spank you in public or whatever it is that has you scared.”
The phrase ‘spank you in public’ left open the idea of spanking in private and I couldn’t help but feel an illicit thrill at the idea of her touching me.
She pulled out a small black strip of lace and fastened it around my neck.
“See, you’re wearing a choker. But nothing changed. You are such a beautiful boy, it would be a shame to not lean into that a little. Now, I’m going to go shower. When I come out I want you all dressed up and sitting in front of the mirror in my bedroom.”
I started with the stockings, slipping them up my smooth legs and trying to ignore the churning emotions as I did. They felt lush. And my naturally hairless legs looked so feminine. It was a shame that men couldn’t wear these without sending so many wrong signals.
When I changed out of my boxers and into the simple satin panties that Lucy had quietly set next to the rest of the outfit I felt a disquieting shiver.
The bulge of my cage pressed forward from behind the fabric. It looked so out of place.
Then followed the rest of the undergarments, the skirt, and the corset. And finally the heels. I stared at myself in the mirror.
How had this happened to me?
When Lucy emerged from the bathroom she squealed and clapped, kissing me on the cheek.
It felt good making her happy. Even if that happiness came at my expense.
“You’re perfect. Now one more thing, we should get you started on the patch right away.”
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