The Galactic Gynarchy Sean

Kidnapped by the Galactic Gynarchy - The Story of Petmale Alpha-seven (the male formerly known as Sean)

Note: This story follows on somewhat from the previous Galactic Gynarchy story, but it's not really necessary to read that one first

Captain Mistress Verantee ran down the list of newly acquired slaves. She was proud of her crew for the seamless abductions, the flawless processing and for the absolute dominance they had shown over these lowly males. Only one abduction had hit even the slightest problem. The profits from this trip would be well above her projections, and the bonus would be appreciated by the whole crew.

The position of captain, however, could be a lonely one. Unlike half her race, Verantee had no romantic or sexual feelings for other women. She preferred the company of a male, but the sensitivity of her role meant that such a male could from time to time be witness to things that needed to be kept secret.

Her first officer solved this problem by keeping her male indoors and strictly separate from ship life, but the captain craved a more constant companion. Her solution was to have a petmale.

Her previous petmale, Sammy, had lived a full eighty years, the last sixty of them after he was captured and converted from human to slave animal. She had not paid to have his life extended another one or even two hundred years, preferring to start fresh with a new pet, though she had had his age frozen so that he remained young up until his death.

Captain Verantee wanted her next pet to be a puppy - green and unspoiled. The legal minimum for enslavement of Earth males was eighteen years of age. On occasion, Captain Verantee's crew even kidnapped such a male on the day of their birthday - a happy occasion indeed. There was something about having a puppy rather than a full-grown pet that she found especially endearing - the youthful energy and the still malleable mind.

She had been to Earth many times before, and the Galactic Gynarchy had found Earth men to be especially suitable to convert into pets. On many of their planets, such males were bred just for this purpose. She preferred, though, to cultivate the puppy dormant inside a male who had previously lived as a free human. She was willing to put in the time and effort, but first she needed to select just the right canvas.

Verantee strode down the corridors of her ship towards the petmale cages. She was tall for her species, six-feet, and had long flowing red hair. She wore a full-body suit made from a high-tech, breathable fabric that looked like PVC. Unlike much of her crew, she kept her breasts and her sex inside her uniform most of the time - a more professional look, but more traditional and reserved.

The crew had harvested a few thousand males this trip, and some three-hundred had immediately been processed into basic petmales, with another fifty becoming ponies. Each had lost their human voice, their vocal cords permanently altered to make only barks, whines or whinnies. Each had had their hands sealed into mitts, rendering them into paws, and the petmales (though not the ponies) had been fitted with kneepads that altered their leg muscles so they could only crawl, never stand.

For the past week, her staff had been assessing and training the petmales in basic obedience. The males had been tested on how quickly they could pick up the words for "sit", "stay", "roll over", "present", and "heel", and how willing they were to obey such commands.

The captain approached a trainer, who saluted.

"Bring me the three best new petmales aged 18 to 21," said the captain.

"Yes, Captain!"

The trainer came back holding three males on leashes. Each was naked except for the standard collar and wrist and ankle cuffs. One, designated Beta-twenty-eight, had dark skin and a winsome face, but he was much too stocky for the captain's tastes. She sent him straight back. There remained two petmales, both pleasingly slim and very much still in possession of their boyish good looks. One, Alpha-seven, had olive skin and was looking shyly at the floor. The other, Delta-thirty, with much paler skin and lighter hair, was looking straight at her and panting.

"Bark for me!" said the captain.

Delta-thirty barked in a low rumble, whilst Alpha-seven had a higher pitched bark, almost a yap but very adorable.

"Sit!" said the captain. Both males planted their rumps on the ground.

"Roll over!" the males complied, their caged penises bobbing around as they rolled back and forth.

"Present!" Delta-thirty, she could see, was almost aggressive in his will to expose himself in the 'present' position. Alpha-seven, on the other hand, still looked a little shy, but nonetheless presented willingly.

The captain walked over to Alpha-seven and began to inspect his mouth, tongue and teeth, moving around to inspect his rear, including his caged cock (not too big, she thought) and his lovely dangling balls (just the right size, and the smaller ones were usually less aggressive). He would look wonderful once she had a tail implanted and made his front paws permanent. Captain Verantee preferred pets that were not castrated - they had more energy and drive.

She looked up at the trainer and made a snap decision, "I'm taking this one for myself. Transfer ownership to me and take the required amount from my account."

"Yes, captain! Will he be coming with you or do you want him to have further training?"

"I'll train him from here. You've done good work - this is already a fine puppy - keep it up."

"Yes, ma'am," said the trainer, leading Delta-thirty back to his pen.

Verantee clipped a long leash to Alpha-seven's collar and led him back to her quarters. She passed a few other crewwomen with their own petmales along the way - the women took one look at Alpha-seven and knew the captain had finally found a new companion. He was just her type. Back at her quarters, the captain made an appointment for the new petmale to visit the veterinarian the next day. There were many modifications she needed made, and there was no sense waiting.

She led Alpha-seven to the sofa in her quarters, where she activated her universal translator.

"Now then my pet, first things first, a few house rules. You will learn my language as you go along, though as a pet you will not need more than about a hundred words of it. For now, learn these rules and remember. Firstly, you will stay off the furniture unless expressly ordered to come up. The word "Up!" is your instruction to do so. Bark once when you understand and twice when you do not. Understand?"

Alpha-seven barked once. He knelt on the floor, still held on the leash.

"Second, you will eat and drink from your bowl on the floor. If you need to go to the toilet, whilst in my quarters you may go directly into the bathroom and use the pet toilet there, if no one else is in the bathroom at the time. You will not attempt to hide or close the door."

The pet toilet was built into the floor - essentially a large self-cleaning hole, but it also had attachments that could clean the pet up after using it. Captain Verantee would have her pet's digestion altered so that his waste came out in odourless pellets, but for now he would need to be cleaned after using the bathroom.

"I will wash and feed you as I see fit. Now, turn away from me and present your balls to me."

Alpha-seven complied. His new owner - this dominant woman - took a black metal ring and fastened it around his balls.

"This is a shock-ring. It has five shock settings. I will develop your obedience with settings one to three. Settings four to five are strictly for punishment. Do your best to obey me and I will never use them. You will also be guided with the crop and the flogger. I will carry a long crop whenever I have you with me - try not to make me use it. I will now demonstrate settings one and two."

Alpha-seven yelped and jumped as the shocks were applied to his balls. He did not want to ever feel them again, let alone anything higher.

"Turn back and face me." the petmale turned and looked up shyly, not meeting his owner's eyes.

"Look me in the eyes, pet." He did.

"You may look me in the eye whenever you choose, pet. You are not my equal and it does not matter if you hold my gaze - you cannot challenge my dominance."

Alpha-seven gazed adoringly into the eyes of his new owner. She ruffled his hair, sending a tingle down his spine. He yelped happily. He was amazed at his own obedience. The mind control drugs he had been fed were tapping into his reserves of pettishness and submission, rewriting his neural pathways into those of a domesticated animal. He wanted to tell his new owner how much he loved being her pet - but once more he tried to speak and remembered that his voice had been taken, replaced with yips, yelps and woofs.

He was not a human, he was a pet, and pets could not speak. Instead, he instinctively nuzzled her hand and leg.

"Good boy. Show me how happy you are that I am your new owner." She petted the male for several minutes, ruffling his hair, stroking his belly, even playfully patting his balls - they did belong to her now, after all.

"There are a few more things for us to go over, pet. This is the penultimate time that we will use the universal translator. The last will be your trip to the vet tomorrow. Firstly, you are my puppy, and always will be my puppy until the day you die. Tomorrow the vet will inject you with a serum that will prevent you from ageing any further. You will live your normal lifespan, but always as a puppy, a young, spritely petmale. I have decided not to castrate you, but repeated disobedience could change that decision."

Alpha-seven whined, keen to show that he wished fervently to obey his new master.

"Secondly, my name. I am your owner, your master. In our culture, a mistress is someone who owns a male slave - such women are addressed as 'Mistress', through speech, by their slaves. Many males in my society have mistresses. Whilst I will use you for my pleasure, you are primarily a pet. Think of me as Master. Capitalise the word in your mind. Even if you work out my name, for you, I will still be called Master, and nothing else."

Alpha-seven barked once to show he understood Master.

"Good boy! Thirdly, I see from your file you are a virgin. Is that correct, puppy?"

Seeing no point in hiding it from Master, but still somewhat ashamed, he barked a quiet bark for "yes".

"Oh puppy, I think it's wonderful you're a virgin. In your patriarchal culture, sex was often only one step from violence. Your cock will never feel the inside of a woman's pussy. You will, in that sense, remain a virgin for the rest of your life. I will teach you how to lick my pussy and ass, and I will fuck you with my strapon regularly. But you can forget about losing your virginity in the patriarchal sense. When you have earned an orgasm, I will provide it for you with my hands - your paws will never be useful for such a purpose.

Where were we? Ah yes. Fourth, what will you do all day and where will you sleep? In the day, you will keep me company, always on a leash, as I go about my work. My duties take me all over the ship, and you will come with me to most of the places I go. In the evening, I will take you for walks around the ship, and you will learn to play with other pets. Then we'll retire to my quarters.

Sometimes you'll sleep curled up on my bed, sometimes in the pet cage I've fitted out for you. Sometimes you will lick me to orgasm or take my cock, sometimes I will be too tired. I decide, in either case. You have no choice.

Finally, pet, your name. Having had a good look at you, I've decided on a name. I don't hold with calling my pets names based on their old culture. Your name will be Poll. It is a pretty name for a pretty puppy. You will also answer to "puppy" and "pet". Understand?"

The newly-christened Poll barked once, eager to show Master that he had understood her every word. He was pleased not to be called Alpha-seven anymore.

For the remainder of the day, Verantee and Poll toured the ship, meeting the crew and other petmales and slave males. Some of the petmales sniffed at him, others gave him a friendly bark and nuzzled his side. Poll was led everywhere by Master on his paws and knees, firmly leashed. Towards the end of the day, when Master had nothing left to do, they retired to her quarters. Poll was fed dry but tasty food from a bowl on the floor, and given water. After going to the bathroom, Master led him to his cage, where she locked him in for the night. The next day, Verantee would take Poll for some modifications at the vet.

Poll woke before Master. He turned over in his cage, and watched her body, Master's body, as her chest rose and fell as she slept. Poll felt very lucky. He could have ended up with a cruel owner, a thoughtless owner, or as one of many pets in a large household. But here he was, a treasured possession, his Master's only pet. He longed to be allowed to lick her pussy, feel her strapon inside of him. Such longings were increasingly just images, though, not thoughts made of words.

Poll increasingly caught himself at rest with his tongue out, panting gently, mind blank. This was the petmale drugs at work. His old memories of himself were being loosened, some dissolving entirely. His intelligence, once extremely high, was being reduced day by day. Pets were to be smart enough to follow complex commands, able to navigate on their own if they had to, but otherwise not able to really think for themselves.

Poll would retain understanding of two and three syllable words, and would understand that Master could do and say things far beyond Poll's own capability. He would never again be truly human, though, in thought or deed. Whilst a two-legged male slave tended to his Mistress's every need, pet owners were often more happy to make their own food and do their own cleaning, needing instead a companion rather than a servant.

Poll watched Master get out of bed - naked - and gradually have breakfast and get dressed. Poll drooled a little as he watched the peerless female form of his Master gracefully make her way around her quarters. Verantee, for her part, paid Poll little mind as she went about getting ready. It meant nothing to her to be naked in front of her pet - soon his intelligence would be reduced to the point where he could not conceive that they were similar beings, and therefore that her clothed form was something he could attain but had been forbidden to. He would still desire her sexually in either case, but always as an inferior.

Masters like Verantee had spent hundreds of years perfecting the pettification of males. Poll would understand that to taste his Master's pussy and ass was true worship of a superior being, to be fucked by her strapon divine. The meaning of being clothed, like so many other thoughts, would not trouble Poll again - in this at least, from his point of view, his life would be less humiliating than that of a two-legged slave who retained thought and speech.

After a time, Verantee got dressed and unlocked Poll from his cage. She did not feed him - the operations he was going to have required him to be nil-by-mouth. He barked at his bowl, but she silenced him with a look, reinforcing the discipline with a short shock to his balls. She left her quarters with Poll behind her on a leash, then threaded her way through corridors to the vet's office. The chief vet and her assistants met their captain at the door.

"Do you want him to hear what's going to be done to him, Captain?"

"I want him to understand, yes. It's good for a puppy to know what they are."

"I'll turn on the translator, then, and we can go through to the treatment room."

Verantee led Poll on the leash through to the treatment room, where the chief vet had Poll climb up onto the examining table. She poked and prodded, examining teeth, balls, cock, tongue, legs, arms, and the hands that Poll still had sealed in the mitts.

"OK, Captain, let's run through what you've asked. Poll, stay still and quiet but listen carefully." Poll visibly stilled.

"Firstly, Poll is to be made permanently into a petmale." The captain nodded as the vet listed what was to be done. "His vocal cords will be set to remain at the level they are now - you've confirmed already that you're happy with his puppy voice. Next, his age is to be stabilised - he will always be eighteen. Such a cute little puppy!

OK, third, digestive system to be altered to make waste easier to manage - we have the details here. Fourth, cock to be circumcised. That's good - foreskin on a pet always looks wrong to me. Fifth, tongue to be lengthened and strengthened. Sixth, tail to be implanted."

Poll jumped a little at that one. Master stroked his back, "Quiet down, Poll. Puppies have tails. Yours will be very fine indeed."

"Seventh, an implant to change pet's intelligence level through slow release of a cocktail of drugs. Reversible over time, if you choose."

The captain nodded - she wanted a compliant pet that still had a spark in his eye.

"Eighth, permanent relaxation of leg muscles and the installation of a hard-wearing regenerative kneepad. Ninth, removal of fingers and thumbs -" Poll whined but was silenced with a surge to his balls - "and installation of hard-wearing regenerative pad to hands, for crawling. Tenth, sense of smell and taste to be enhanced. Eleventh, ears to be enlarged by 100%. Finally, chipping and tattooing. That everything, ma'am?"

"That's all."

"It will take approximately six hours, and he'll need some time to recover with us. Come back for him tomorrow at noon, please."

"Sure thing, and thanks for fitting us in so quickly."

Poll was still processing this when he was injected with a sedative, and drifted quickly off into unconsciousness...

Poll awoke to find himself lying in a wide steel cage, on a bed. There was no food but there was a little water for him to drink. He found his tongue snaked easily out to lap it up from the bowl. His tongue felt strange, but good - a powerful presence in his mouth. Smells began to hit him from all sides. He smelled the vets and nurses, he smelled antiseptic and disinfectant. He smelled one or two other males, and a host of presences - alien males largely - that he could not identify.

Next he tried to touch his face. He found to his shock that he had no fingers or thumbs any more. He ran his palms over his face, finding them rough to the touch. Looking at his hands, he had a pad like the paw of a dog on them. He crawled around in the cage, trying to get a look at his new tail. It was the same olive skin tone as the rest of his body, with a pointy end, short and whippy. He looked outside of the cage and woofed. After a time, a vet nurse came to see him and admonished him to be quiet. He went back to sleep, eager to see Master again and show her his new tail.

Poll awoke to the sound of Master's voice! She was here! The vet nurse led Poll from the cage. He felt strangely unrestricted - no longer wearing the mitts or the kneepads. Experimenting with his new body, he rose on his hind legs but found he could not thrust himself upward with them as he would once have been able to do. He still had his feet, for balance and traction, but would never stand on them again. He could sit up and beg, but not stand. Master reached down and clipped a leash to his collar.

The vet nurse explained to Verantee that the operations had been a complete success. Poll caught only the occasional word - mostly things like "Puppy" and "Poll". Verantee, his Master, signed some forms and led Poll from the vet on his leash. Poll went willingly, eager to get away from the smell of disinfectant and walking well on his new legs and paws. He began to smell Master more closely. She smelled clean and good, with an undercurrent that came from between her legs. Master was aroused, and leading Poll more and more quickly back to her quarters.