By the third decade of the twenty-first century, the economy had finally imploded and the demand for employees appeared to permanently dry up. It appeared that a high rate of unemployment exceeding 17% would be a permanent fixture in the social fabric. Hordes of twenty-somethings had permanently indentured themselves with student loan debts that they could never hope to pay off.
Naturally, society had to find ways to deal with and "warehouse" the permanent unemployable underclass. It soon became apparent that there were many in the population who had hardwired submissive tendencies that could be exploited as free labor and as domestic sex slaves.
There arose a sub rosa army of specially trained men and women who were deputized to go undercover to the bars and social functions to ferret out attractive men and women wrestling with their submissive tendencies. After a few drinks, they would be cajoled to come home with the deputized slavers where they would be seduced and stripped of their autonomy as free citizens. Once enslaved, they would be registered as live stock with the USDA.
It was becoming more and more common place and socially acceptable to see a naked man or woman collared and leashed walked down the street by an elegantly dressed owner.
Carl was twenty-seven years, had a decent job as an insurance adjuster. He could not sustain a long-term relationship with a woman and over the years became increasingly driven by fantasies of being dominated and humiliated by beautiful women. He had tried to put these desires out of his mind but over time they became more insistent and compulsive. He knew only too well that it had become illegal to have these thoughts and that these impulses would eventually spell his demise.
It was on that fateful Friday night, he saw Chloe at the bar. She was a mocha mulatto woman, with long frizzy hair covering her shoulders, beautifully formed breasts filling out her expensive blouse, thick sensual lips. Her five foot eight inch frame was further enhanced by her four inch stiletto heels.
She smiled at him when he offered to buy her a drink. They made small talk all evening and hit the dance floor when one of them heard a favorite song.
She told him she really liked him and asked if he would like to go to her place for a night cap.
His imagination sizzled as she took out her keys to unlock the front door. As she switched on the lamp he was impressed with the fine taste evidenced by her décor. The clicking of her high heels on the hard floor somehow excited him. The rugs, the paintings on the wall, the small sculptures on the table exuded the sophistication of an accomplished collector.
"Can I make you a Crème de mint?" she asked.
She had him sit on the couch was she went to the bar to mix the drinks.
Watching him slowly imbibe the drink she prepared, she asked him to tell her about the details of his life, where he grew up, his relationships. The drink was relaxing him, giving him a strong buzz. He could feel the heat of her gaze and felt his inhibitions slipping away. She clicked the remote for soft jazz music.
What kind of work do you do, Chloe?
"I guess you could say I'm something of a psychotherapist, Carl. I help men deal with their issues".
"What kind of issues?"
"Well, many men find it stressful and tiring to maintain control in their jobs and everyday routine. They would like to find a safe outlet, a safe place in which they can surrender responsibility for outcomes and allow someone else to take control."
"I like to think I provide a safe haven for them to explore the submissive side of their nature. They rely on me to help them explore their darkest fantasies."
Carl could not help but feel his mind wandering.
"Chloe, what do you think of the reemergence of slavery in our society?"
"Don't you think we're taking a big step backwards?" Carl slurred.
