While masturbating and fantasizing about female domination and tease and denial I found myself conjuring up situations that would call for the most extensive and merciless orgasm control imaginable. It was surprisingly difficult to come up with scenarios that were both sustainable and, if not believable -- and let's face it, what scenario in which a woman plays with a guy's dick for hours on end is actually believable? --, at least internally consistent and logical.
Then I hit on it. What if all those right-wingers were on to something, and legions of "feminazis" and left-wing academics really _did_ have a secret plan to subjugate all of male-kind along with the means to execute said plan? What if the bill for all those years of male-domination and oppression finally came due? What follows is simply the twisted but inevitable outcome of that diabolic plan. Call it a Fox News junkie's worst nightmare.
So this is Science Fiction -- Speculative Fiction for you literary types, and you know who you are -- but it's probably not up to Ms. Atwood's standards, or Mr. Orwell's. Really, it's mostly good old-fashioned BDSM.
I'm not sure know how Ms. PadmaBear would feel about living in this dystopian paradise (she certainly seems to be enjoying teasing and denying me, but that's a different story) but I know I'd enjoy every minute.
Or would I?
-Mr. PadmaBear
_____
They brought him into a bright, long room. Like a ward room, he realized, with reluctant relief. Not a cell. The whole place felt more like a hospital than a prison. The room contained a series of bays separated by thin divider drapes. The low burnt-orange fall noon sunlight was filtering through the divided panes of a single window far at the end, all but conquered by the harsh cool artificial light familiar to all institutions.
Dr. Pincer looked at him, holding his eye for a minute, letting him know who was in charge. A slight smile curled on her lips, showing disdain and mild malice; but something more than that -- idle curiosity? He was struck with a sudden insight: this woman liked her job. Really liked her job. The insight didn't bring him any comfort.
"This.. she gestured along the room ..will be your new home."
She walked down to the second partition and pointed into the space between the dividers.
"More precisely, you will be spending the vast majority of your time right here."
As he walked with his minders toward where she was standing and could see where she was pointing, his sense of relief evaporated. In the little space, surrounded by three curtains, was nothing but a small stainless steel table, two uncomfortable looking stacking chairs, and a bed.
It was more like a cot really. A tall skinny platform made of steel, with strong stabilizing feet. On top of that was a mattress covered with a closely fitted aqua-colored sheet. Laying across the the mattress were a series of wide belts. Looking closer, he noticed small buckled loops lined with a soft material, hanging from the base and sides of the bed. What the hell was going on here? He felt a dryness in his throat.
The director locked eyes with him, and this time he was certain that he saw her cruel smile also held a trace of amusement.
"I see you've noticed our restraints. We find that they are... necessary."
"But, but... I'm not crazy! I'm not violent! They told me they were sending me here for social rehabilitation."
"Silence!!"
The force and intensity of her scream startled him. He felt more than heard it -- the shrillness of it running up his spine. The dryness in his throat opened to the bitter taste of bile.
Then she smiled, and let him see that she was not without some trace of human sympathy.
"I appear to have your complete attention. Ms. Fordham, whom you will meet later, will fill you in on the rest of the rules here -- as you can imagine, they are quite extensive. And we will exercise some patience with you as you learn -- the ropes, so to speak. But there are two very basic rules here. Rules that you violate at your extreme peril."
"The first is that you are to obey our staff without question. The second is that you are not to speak to myself or any of the senior staff here without having being asked a direct question. You can identify the senior staff by our uniforms. And, we carry these."
She grasped a wand at her hip, pulling it out of a holster attached to a leather belt around her waist. She walked over to where he was standing, between his two minders, a pair of largish women wearing grayish hospital scrubs.
She looked at him again, thrusting the wand at his belly. She watched his face for a moment.
She made a slight movement with her fingers on the wand. Without any warning he felt an enveloping electric vibration deep at the root of his pelvis. For the first fraction of a second the sensation was almost pleasant. And then, it wasn't. The vibration moved outward through his lower body. As it hit his balls, they felt as though they were being softly stroked and simultaneously squeezed. Hard. He felt like he'd been kicked, but worse. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, doubling over, feeling the bile turning to vomit and rushing up his throat.
Then it stopped as quickly as it started. Amazingly, he felt no lingering effect from the sudden assault.
"That", she said, "was level two. This little device has six higher levels of intensity."
Her face gained a trace of sympathy again.
"We don't like to use it. The social order we preserve is above all else humane and committed to the principles of non-violent participatory consensus building. We'd rather rely on more subtle and effective treatments. But you must also know that we weld absolute control here, and that there are absolute limits to our tolerance of disobedience. In fact, as our beloved Big Sister has said, 'Obedience _is_ Tolerance'."
"Now", she said, turning her gaze to the bed. "I think it's time to introduce you to your new quarters."
She glanced over to the two assistants, still standing to either side of him.
"I'll leave you two to it. I'm sure you'll call me if you need me. But," she said with a trace of satisfaction, "I'm sure that you won't."
With that, she strode out of the ward room, the sound of her narrow heels pinging off of the polished tile floor and echoing against the hard plaster walls.
The two women looked at him. They had a rough, non-nonsense demeanor and while their faces were not unfriendly, they conveyed a kind of ambivalent contempt -- projecting an air of boredom, but underneath that he sensed a wry enjoyment of their roles. Jonah had learned to be observant, and also to keep his observations to himself. A vague intuition ran across his mind.
Both women had spiky close cropped hair, and round, pasty faces. While not really overweight they were certainly stout. And they carried a certain swagger. They looked exactly like the women he saw at the "Bull Dyke" club he passed on his way to the college downtown. The BD's were one of the most prominent political clubs in town, and he was used to the dismissive hoots and catcalls he'd have directed at him as he hurried, head down, past its doors. "Hey boy, how'd you like to come over here and lick my big furry twat?"
The idea of having that kind of woman as master of his fate sent shivers down his spine. Not the good kind.
The taller of the dyke twins spoke.
"Alright, honey, let's get you set up here. You don't want to make us late for our lunch break, do you?"
He hesitated slightly. She pointed to the bed.
"Well go on then, get up there."
