I do not condone the use of sexual violence against anyone. This story is NOT about that. What I am hoping for here is to conflate a national psyche with that of the individual to produce a psychological study of the motivations of a submissive woman. I am submissive myself, and so have drawn heavily upon my reflections about my reasons for embracing the lifestyle while living in a country as conservative as Jamaica. Obviously, I do not mean to disparage sexually submissive people in any way, and I make no claims that my views are universally applicable. -- Cinner
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I remember those days well. It was the beginning of the war crimes trials against the Yluki, the civilisation of invaders who first visited Earth in 3035. It was the beginning of seven years of tales, recounted in detail about enforced public nudity, floggings, slavery and other sexually free expressions seen only in the perverse days of Ancient Rome and the 1960s in America. I am exhausted by the fear and uncertainty in which I live. The bulk of the trials are over, but occasionally, one emerges to sensational global media coverage. No one gets off from this if it reaches so far as a trial. Ylukis have been expelled from Earth and told never to return. Those who try to be reunited with their mates are executed! Despite centuries of trying we have not relieved ourselves of our bloodlust.
The official histories say that the Yluki appeared to come in peace, but very quickly showed us that they meant to enslave us all. We have been advised officiously that it is really not the stuff of fantasy for everyone to be a sex slave.
"It is a horrifying situation in which to find oneself!" I keep chanting in my head, ensuring that I remember the safe line of argument to take if pounced on in the streets for an opinion.
The irony of being told what to think as an antidote to being enslaved is not lost on me. I think about disobeying, but I am a true submissive and do not follow the thought through to its conclusion, consciously.
Radical accounts of the events in those days fifty years ago tell us that at first, we were flattered when these beings, clearly superior to us in every way, made their desire to mate with us known. They told our forefathers that, together, we could form a new species that would rule the universe. They said that it would make us ready to defend our little solar system against all comers.
The ones who came first knew that we on Earth were still driven by ambitions to know for sure what lay beyond our galaxy so we welcome them and their ways. They knew that we respected each other's territory here on Earth only because our planet was too fragile to facilitate another global war over the redistribution of resources. They had already perfected medicine and science and were bored, even with Art. Sex was another matter though. It was not a cerebral activity; though as we have come to accept the very best sex begins and ends with the brain. Freedom of sexual expression was new to them if not to us. It was the intensity of their desire to explore their sexuality that surprised everyone. Most of us were not as bored with life as the Yluki were, but some were already staring down the well of ennui and so were ripe for the plucking. The Ylukis' intellect was capable of reasoning in their favour anything that they wanted, and so they justified using us in a sick chess match of their own devising.
Well, at least the prevailing popular opinion was that it was sick. For some of us it was Heaven on Earth since the Yluki were perfect for our purposes. As sexual submissives, what the Yluki did to us was to make us complete; whole beyond anything that we could describe to someone without these proclivities.
Sadly though, to admit something like that today fifty years after their arrival is to paint oneself as a collaborator with the enemy, much as some European women were seen at the end of World War II in the twentieth century. I cannot condone what those women did. It was clear that what was happening around them was abominable, but I have genuinely chosen to follow one of these Yluki to the ends of the Earth; and I would leave this place with him if only I could survive on a planet outside this one. No one has died in this situation. The Yluki have not set upon a campaign of genocide. No one is being genuinely enslaved here! Well, not in my apartment since I have chosen to be collared by my lover. I have surrendered my will to him. I am his slave.
I slip on the tight white tube top and skin-tight shorts and looked at myself in the mirror. I am 40 pounds too heavy for the outfit and 10 years too old to be playing this game with my Master, Greyson. I know that despite my café au lait complexion the heat in my cheeks and neck as I gaze at my reflection will give a reddish tinge to my skin. Greyson says often that blushing improves my looks. I can't believe that I am allowing this to happen to me. My new Yluki Dom has read me well. He knows that I crave the public humiliation that he prescribes for me.
I look at myself in the mirror and note my erect nipples dangling at the tips of my sagging double Ds. God I want to cry! I know that I am going to do this, even as I plead with Greyson to think of something else with which to amuse himself.
He only laughs at me and sweeps his hand, indicating the burgeoning erection still trapped in his jeans, with a flourish. I know that it is pointless. This has happened before. My begging, and the thought that I am about to humiliate myself at his behest, have excited him to the point where he will have to cum. I am not going to get out of this without serious payback.
I could leave him. In this climate I really ought to do so, but I cannot. We see each other sexually in secret. To the world we are social acquaintances and colleagues at work, but beyond that we are not permitted to engage in our D/s relationship since to do so is against the law now. To do so is to say that a human is below a Yluki on the evolutionary chain. It is saying something that we all know to be true, but it is just not a politically correct assertion to make now. We've regressed to the kind of witch hunts that tormented men who had to have sex with other men centuries ago.
I leave my apartment and walk down the tree-lined street toward my red XKVS3040, attracting disbelieving stares and the occasional wolf-whistle. I look like a street-walker, I'm sure. I am in fact a professional woman of another sort. The way that I look would not suggest that I have a PhD in Electronics & Electrical Engineering and that I teach at the university 40 minutes' flight from my home. I am regarded a disgrace simply because I have chosen not to embrace the feminist political worldview. I am not a criminal simply because no one has actually caught me alone with Greyson. He teaches Interplanetary Anthropology at my university. That was where I met him. I am a throw-back in many ways. I'm an anomaly because I still define myself as a slave and since I still go into the office occasionally. I live two very distinct lives.
