Slave Protocol 2 – Femdom Story

4.2
(57)

by Tau_90

Picture by: 0formant0

Read Part 1 here

He spent a rough, sleepless night. He was tossing and turning around in the uncomfortable bed of some ragged male-visitors hotel in the outskirts of the capital. He was trembling from fear and anxiety. An ice cold sweat covered his body. His throat was dry. His heart was racing. His muscles ached. His body echoed with the thunder of mental storm as his mind was falling apart, threatening to split his personality in two unequal halves.

The more he pondered the events of the day, the less he understood. Is it true that he voluntarily waived his rights and signed away his freedom? Is it true that he wilfully offered himself as a slave to a complete stranger? A Lady he knew almost nothing about?

“You are a prisoner of your own body. You are a slave, trapped in the body of a freeman. You know we can always remedy that, don’t you?”

Her soft voice was spreading around his brain like poison. It travelled around his neural network in the form of electrical impulse, slowly infecting neuron after neuron until he could think of nothing but Her and her words.

Lady Chloë Blanchefleur. During their brief interaction he learnt almost nothing of her, except for the obvious fact that she was a member of a ruling elite and daughter of one of New Amazonia’s wealthiest businesswomen. She didn’t tell him anything and he certainly wasn’t in the position to ask questions.

He couldn’t even remember precisely how much he told her and he had to assume he told her everything. Her serene beauty struck down his defences, her fair hairstyle blinded him, her deep blue eyes penetrated his soul.

If he knew so little of her, she – on the other hand – knew plenty about him. And most importantly, she knew all of his weaknesses. She learned it all during their short conversation or – more precisely – her questioning of him. What surprised him most, though, was the fact that she seemed to know and understand some of his most well kept secrets already in advance. It was as if she could readily read his mind and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Her words echoed in his mind.

“You cannot escape this. It will stay with you and torture you until you finally break and give in. Why wait for it? Hand me your freedom and you will find peace and harmony you never knew. You will suffer as a slave. But that is your fate. I don’t need to tell you what you are. You already know it.”

He knew it, because he had read about it. Men like him were called natural born slaves. Was it really that simple? Was that all that he was? Nothing but a shell of a man? A soul of a slave that can never be at peace with himself, unless he is owned and made to serve? Not a person with a personality of his own, but a tool, a plaything, a puppet in the hands of his mistress?

No.

He was better than that. More than that. He was a man, with his own dreams, aspirations, ambitions. A man, who happens to suffer from some peculiar disease of mind, but who is nonetheless a free person. Free to choose a different path for himself. Free to resist these dreadful yearnings. Free to act contrary to the will of some spoiled girl who intends to exploit his weakness and manipulate him into slavery for her own amusement.

That’s what she was. A spoiled and arrogant brat who shamelessly played with men as if they were playthings. And it was not just her. It was the entire system, the social structure of this wicked country. How foolish he was to come to this evil place, where men were subject to such unfair treatment.

Suddenly he felt guilty. Was it not true that he came to this country precisely because of the way men were treated? Was it not true that he himself derived pleasure from seeing men being forced into servitude by these intolerably arrogant women? That he was in fact a hypocrite and a coward who secretly craved female rule, but preferred to observe it from a distance rather than experience it on his own skin?

Was it really his place, then, to criticise the rules and customs of this land? When in Rome, do as Romans do. And that was precisely what was now expected of him. To experience the same fate he used to observe with other men who, for one reason or another, ended up being slaves to these haughty women.

He trembled in fear as he imagined himself in their place. He knew what it meant to be a slave in New Amazonia. To be a slave is to be nothing. A creature without rights, oppressed and denied of any dignity, left at the mercy of a mistress who can subject him to any cruelty that comes to her mind.

No.

He could not endure that. His arrival in this place was a huge mistake. His confession to Lady Chloë Blanchefleur was an even greater mistake. It was only one thing to do now. He had to leave this land immediately, forget what he saw here and never return.

Given the choice of either fleeing or spending the rest of his days as Lady Blanchenfleur’s property, his distress only grew stronger. She had warned him against leaving New Amazonia and threatened him with dire consequences should he change his mind.

He took a deep breath, replayed potential scenarios in his head and calculated his odds. She said her secretary will call him after she prepares the paperwork for his “voluntary enslavement”. Until then, nobody should take notice of his absence. It would be prudent to leave immediately, but he had to wait until morning. Male curfew was in place and wandering around at night time could lead him into trouble.

He quickly packed his belongings, grabbed his passport and at exactly 6am left the hotel and rushed towards the airport.



The events of that day moved with a hastened pace. He made it to the airport at 7am, bought the first flight back to Europe and joined the line of males waiting for the border control. They were mostly migrant workers and occasional visitors, but they all exhibited the same anxious demeanour. There were no carefree men in New Amazonia.

The policewoman responsible for the border control was a pretty brunette with a petite sculpture and friendly expression, which seemed unusual for an Amazon policewoman dealing with men. She smiled at him as he anxiously handed her the passport and visa documents.

“Leaving so soon?” she giggled at him. “Your visa is valid for another month. I hope we didn’t scare you away?”

He stammered an unconvincing explanation including certain pressing work issues that forced him to terminate his stay and return back home.

“Well, if you have to go, you have to go” she smiled at him. “It’s a pity wasting your visa like this, though. I know how hard it is for men to obtain it. And I know many are intimidated by our laws. But if you respect women and obey our laws, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

She seemed to genuinely believe in what she was saying.

“I hope you learned something useful during your stay” she added and handed him back his documents. “I wish you a pleasant flight”.

“Thank you, Ma’am” he responded and was about to proceed to the Departures, when something popped up on her computer.

“Wait a minute” she exclaimed and raised her hand to stop him. “I need to check this.” She stared at the screen and she seemed worried.

“Is everything all right, Ma’am?” he politely inquired.

She did not immediately respond.

“Yes, yes, everything is perfectly in order” she responded, but her voice suggested otherwise. “But you’ll have to step with me for a brief moment. Anna, can you take my place?” she turned to the policewoman behind her.

He followed her in silence as she led him away from the counters and towards the door on the other side of the hall. They walked past two policewomen and he noticed how she gestured to them to join them. He began to sweat uncontrollably. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“In here, please”. He walked into the room, followed by her and the other two women. Once they were inside, her attitude changed in a second. She pulled her gun and pointed it at his chest.

“On your knees, slave!”

He stared at her as if he was struck by a lightning bolt. “I don’t un- un- understand” he stammered. “This is so- so- some so- so- sort of a mi- mi- mistake.” His body began to shake uncontrollably.

“I said on your knees, slave!” she shouted at him. Her expression was now a strange mix of fear and disgust.

He slowly dropped to his knees and one of the other two policewomen slowly approached him from behind, took the handcuffs from her belt and placed both of his hands in cuffs. Then she took a step back and turned towards the previously friendly and chatty brunette.

“What’s going on here, Ava?” she inquired. “Who is this male?”

“He tried to leave the country, disguised as a free male” Ava replied, still pointing a gun at Mark. She was clearly agitated. “While he is in fact a slave to Chloë Blanchefleur. She reported his escape early in the morning. A warrant for apprehension was issued to all units. It popped up on my computer just in time. A minute later he would escape.”

“I don’t really follow” replied the other policewoman. She slowly circled around him with a suspicious look. She was a natural redhead with a pale skin and somewhat distant, disinterested expression. “He doesn’t really look like a slave. No QR code, no property marks anywhere. Are you sure this isn’t a mistake? How would the slave be able to put up all this disguise?”

“I don’t know, Maiken” replied Ava. “I don’t know the details. Perhaps he was very recently enslaved and they haven’t managed to register and mark him. But he is a slave all right. Take a look at the warrant.”

“That’s exactly true” said the third woman, a tall blonde whose epaulettes denoted a senior rank. She was scrolling through the warrant on her tablet. “He became a slave just yesterday, can you imagine? And he tried to escape before they even had the chance to properly register him. That’s why he was able to get this far. Give him a shot, Maiken. We need to return the wretch to his rightful owner.”

Mark watched as if paralysed when Maiken slowly walked behind him, took a jet injector and injected him with a sedative. The last thing he could remember was Ava looking at him with a mix of regret and disgust.



A few rays of sunshine found their way through the thick curtains and landed on the marble, gold and wooden furniture of the master bedroom. The birds ceased to sing their morning songs hours ago. It was almost noon.

Marie Louise yawned and stretched her arms. She turned on her phone and checked the time. It was 11.30 am. She slept for at least ten hours. No worries. She didn’t have any real obligations that day. Or any other day, for that matter. Unlike her older sister Chloë, who often kept herself busy studying, Marie Louise spent most of her time partying and enjoying various social events and leisure activities.

She yawned again, slowly turned towards the nightstand, took the small ring bell and rang twice. Silently the doors opened and a male silhouette quietly entered the room. He was barefoot and dressed in a simple grey cotton tunic. His head was completely shaven and he wore a metal collar around his neck. He was a man in his fifties, old enough to be her father. But he was a mere household slave, well used to obeying twenty year old girls and serving them on hand and foot. He made his way to her bed and humbly knelt at the side of the bed, his forehead touching the ground right next to her slippers.

“Good Morning, Gracious Lady” he spoke in a humble, slavish manner. “Thy slave lives to execute Thy bidding, Merciful Mistress.”

“Fetch me breakfast!” she said without even looking at him. She was busy checking stories on her phone.

“At once, Your Grace ”. The slave disappeared from the room and returned after a couple of minutes with a heavy loaded tray which he placed on the bed beside her. He then resumed his kowtowing position.

As Marie Louise was eating her breakfast in bed, she instructed the slave to bring various items of clothing and footwear from her wardrobe so she could choose what to wear for the date. He dutifully obeyed and brought much of the wardrobe into the bedroom, placing various items around the room so she could choose amongst them, including a large selection of shoes and boots.

She chose a fairly simple khaki miniskirt, a black top and cute dark floral patterned pantyhose. She gracefully rose from her bed and let the slave undress her. As he removed her nightgown, she stood above him completely naked, completely oblivious to his presence. For her, he was a mere subhuman, not much different from an animal. Besides, he was an eunuch, as were most household slaves. For Marie Louise, there wasn’t anything sexual in posing naked in front of her slave.

He skilfully moved around her as if he was working on a delicate piece of art, covering her private parts with lace underwear and encasing her legs in pantyhose, followed by placing and buttoning her skirt around her hips. The whole ritual proceeded in silence.

She took a seat on the ornamented mahogany sofa and stretched her feet towards his head.

“Now put those boots on!” she said and pointed to a pair of high heeled leather ankle boots. He took them as if they were a precious relic and carefully placed them on Marie Louise delicate pantyhose clad feet.

He then prostrated himself before her with his head touching the ground as the protocol required of him. Before he could raise his head again to humbly kiss the tip of her boot, she already walked away. Marie Louise wasn’t particularly interested in protocols.

He sighed and took the rest of Marie Louise’s clothes back to her wardrobe, then began cleaning her room.



“So here is our runaway! I can see the consequences of his imprudent decision already took a heavy toll on his body. But I suppose one cannot expect a man to behave rationally. You see, Marie, we have here yet another proof of men’s inferiority. Without Female rule this world would descend into chaos.”

The girls entered the holding cell with smiles on their faces, their high heels clicking confidently upon the floor.

Lady Chloë Blanchefleur. Lady Marie Louise Blanchefleur. Two sisters. Two privileged young aristocrats, confident in their right to own and treat human beings as if they were inanimate objects.

Mark watched them with fear in his eyes as they slowly approached. His hands were painfully strapped on his back, fastened on the windlass and hanged upside down above a bucket of water, to which he was occasionally dunked by a cruel policewoman who has been tormenting him for the past few hours. His head was swinging a few centimetres above the water as he stared at their high heeled boots. He tried to raise his head and he caught a glimpse of Chloë’s cold expression. She pierced him with her eyes, but retained a haughty, distant and indifferent posture. Her sister’s expression was different. She seemed amused.

He watched them in despair. What a mistake he had made. His freedom was lost in a matter of minutes. Had he managed to escape a little sooner, he would be back at home already. Now, he will live as a slave to these vindictive girls. Again he felt rage boiling inside him.

He was quickly cooled down by another vicious kick to his head that made him swing like a pendulum.

“Poor wretch. That must have hurt” commented Marie Louise and smiled.

“Indeed it does” replied the policewoman. “Even so, this is only a tiny fraction of suffering he is going to experience. Runaway slaves pose a threat to the very foundations of our society and need to be dealt with harshly. We will use this one as an example to any other slave that would dare to rise against us.”

“There are certainly wider things to consider in such cases, but this particular slave is my personal property and it is me and only me who is the judge to his fate” Chloë replied haughtily.

“Of course, Ma’am, I had no intention of infringing your property rights” the policewoman replied hastily and somewhat less assuredly.

“Normally I would send such a creature to the Factory” Chloë continued. “But I had other plans for this one and his failed escape will make them even more interesting. For us and for him. Marie, I would like you to own and train him. This slave is my birthday gift to you.”

Marie Louise burst in laughter. “Why on Earth would you give me this wretch, my dear sister? He already tried to escape once and he might just as well do it again. How will that serve my purpose? Better send him to the mines or wherever they put them.”

“I fear you are missing an important point here, Marie” Chloë replied solemnly. “This is a natural born slave, but also an untrained and primitive creature. You are well used to owning fully processed slaves, but here we have an example of a slave in his raw form. Instead of buying a slave that has been trained by professional trainers, you can train him yourself and mold him to your desires. And believe me, nothing can beat the feeling of breaking a slave to your will. I have tried it dozens of times and would be happy to assist you with this one.”

“The way you put it makes it sound quite exciting” smiled Marie Louise. “I will give it a try then. Seeing him like that makes me think of all the things that I could try on him.”

“That’s my sister” Chloë nodded in approval and turned to the policewoman who watched them with a certain degree of scepticism.

“Please make sure they deliver him to our mansion by nightfall. I would like our new guinea pig prepared in the morning”.

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5 comments on “Slave Protocol 2 – Femdom Story

  • Women must be worshipped at all times.

    Kiss their feet. Offer your face as a seat. Become their property.

    Reply
  • If only all males would just accept the cold, hard truth.

    That women are superior to men in EVERY way; and all men should be required BY LAW to kiss their stinking, sweaty feet whenever the beautiful lady demands it.

    Women rule!

    Reply

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