The Streets of New Amazonia - Femdom Story

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The air hung heavy with the monotonous symphony of clinking chains and jostling stones as the unfinished cobblestone street absorbed the blistering heat. The rhythmic cadence of heels clicking and whips hissing echoed through the oppressive atmosphere, punctuated by an occasional sigh from the condemned and the callous laughter of women.

Two packs of slaves toiled relentlessly upon the street. Two packs of crawlers, each containing five virtually identical male slaves. Each pack, comprised of five nearly indistinguishable male slaves, bore the unmistakable marks of casual cruelty, inflicted upon them by their mistresses. Half naked, hairless and malnourished creatures, crippled by Female doctors and reduced to the life of perpetual crawling. Heads bowed, eyes fixed on the ground, they existed as a collective entity, devoid of individual names or identity.

None of them bore a name. Indeed, they weren’t thought of as separate beings at all. Dehumanized and stripped of any semblance of dignity, they were perceived as mere commodities—trained, sold, and exploited as a homogeneous unit. Their vacant eyes, lifeless expressions, and defeated postures betrayed the resignation that accompanied the abandonment of hope for a better life. Their existence consisted of crawling, transporting heavy stones, and arranging them methodically. Their routine included prostrating themselves on the ground whenever a Woman passed, their foreheads humbly pressed against the earth.

As the property of the State, these wretches were supervised by the State employed taskmistresses, Mistress Hanako and Mistress Nanami. Each taskmistress oversaw a specific group of slaves, earning them the title of Hanako’s or Nanami’s slaves. Yet, even in this categorization, the Women failed to distinguish one from another. Ugly, filthy, and loathsome, the slaves were viewed as a homogenous mass by their betters. Hanako and Nanami rarely even caught a look at their faces as they were strictly prohibited from rasing their eyes above a Woman’s knee. On rare occasions Hanako and Nanami took the trouble to adress their slaves, they maintained unwavering attention on their mistresses’ footwear, as if the leather of their stilettos or boots held some elusive, deeper meaning.

Hanako and Nanami rarely engaged directly with the slaves, typically limiting their interactions to issuing brief and commanding orders, often punctuated by the crack of a whip. Each day, they selected one slave to serve them as their personal attendant. This choice imposed additional burdens on the rest of the slaves, as the tasks originally assigned to the entire pack were expected to be completed regardless of the number of laborers missing, thereby requiring the remaining slaves to redouble their efforts to meet the demands. Hanako and Nanami left little room for question in this matter.

It remained a matter of uncertainty whether being chosen by these taskmistresses as a personal servant was a blessing or a curse for the selected slave. For Mistress Hanako and Mistress Nanami, such a question held no significance. To them, a slave was merely a living instrument without any inherent purpose. It wasn’t a matter of disregarding their thoughts or emotions, but rather that they were not entitled to possess any of them at all. After undergoing rigorous training, these aspects of individuality were to be wholly extinguished.

The manner in which they were utilized held profound significance for the slaves of course. To not be selected meant enduring yet another grueling day of backbreaking labor, crawling on all fours, and moving heavy stones. On the contrary, being chosen might entail serving the lady in various ways – from becoming her living chair and bearing her weight throughout the day to shining her shoes, lighting her cigarettes, and running errands. It could also mean serving as an outlet for her stress relief. In the face of such responsibilities, slaves quickly learned to dread Mistress Nanami and her menacing bullwhip.

How exactly they were used, mattered a lot for the slaves of course, even if it did not remove the veil of uncertainty. Not being chosen meant enduring another day of exruciating hardship, crawling around on all fours and moving around heavy stones. Being chosen could mean serving the lady as her living chair, endouring her weight throughout the day. Or it could mean shining her shoes, lighting her a cigarette, running simple errands for her. It could also mean serving as an object for stress relief. Slaves learned to fear Mistress Nanami and her long, evil looking bullwhip.

It was perhaps for this very reason that Mistress Nanami’s ensemble appeared all the more unappealing. For the slave currently pinned beneath Mistress Nanami’s boot, the idea of serving Mistress Hanako as her living chair appeared to be a marked improvement in his situation. However, as a slave, the choice was far from his to make. Under the unyielding weight of his mistress’s heavy leather boot, pressing his defeated face into the ground, he could only imagine his fellow slave, delicately quivering beneath the presence of a beautiful Asian goddess, nonchalantly seated on his back and indulging in her cigarette.

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The Streets of New Amazonia – Femdom Story

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