Author's Note: Welcome back. If you're here, it probably means that you liked the first chapter. I'm glad.
As stated before, this is a dark fantasy story; it is not a guide on how to behave. (I'd argue that it's a guide on how
not
to behave, for the most part.) Themes of body shaming and misogyny are prevalent, along with other awful stuff.
Again, all credit for the creation of the story's universe goes to AlectaShadow. I am in your debt for inventing this world in the first place.
All characters featured in sexual situations are 18 or above.
Don't forget to comment, folks. It's the lifeblood of us authors. And if you love it, please vote.
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5) The Punishment.
Abigail
I arrive at the office three hours before work, as instructed. As I pull into the parking garage, I notice how dead this place is. Exiting my car, I move swiftly into the main building.
My badge gets me through the door, but all of the interior lights are still off. Only the dim glow of the exit signs illuminate the dark hallways. Earlier this morning, Dearest told me to meet him at Chief Bogart's office. I don't know why I am here, but I trust that Dearest has my best interests at heart. He is such a strong, masculine leader. I'd be so lost without him.
He has instructed me to wear a form-fitting pant-suit... but no panties or bra, as usual. I can feel the soft fabric of my bottoms riding up my cracks, but I resist the urge to adjust them. Dearest likes when my body is properly displayed.
Walking down these narrow halls, I ponder how much my life has changed in the last few months. I used to be an active Federal agent. It's amazing how I was able to squeak by for so many years without someone realizing that I didn't belong.
I had taken part in the arrests of over a hundred criminals, but I shudder to think about how many more arrests would have been made, if a man had held my position.
Fortunately, all of that is taken care of now. I am working a secretarial job, and the men are free to solve cases more efficiently, without an emotional, error-prone woman hampering their efforts.
Something within my domesticated mind thrums lightly, sending reassuring endorphins eking out into my brain, and rewarding me for my wise thoughts. I feel mild pleasure ripple outward from my nether regions, and my eyes flutter with sexual gratification.
It suddenly strikes me as quite strange that I understand how my brain is behaving and why. I must have learned about this process at some point, but if so... I have long since forgotten. That's fine. Dearest always tells me that I think too much for a woman anyway.
Riding the elevator up, I pass the 6th floor, where Thomas Evans has been conducting operations to stop... something... I forget what. Dearest says it isn't important. But it's a bad thing Tom's doing. Of course, I know that.
A little over a week ago, I failed at my one opportunity to make Thomas stop his efforts. It was my job to take him to lunch, learn about the case, and convince him that it was a waste of time. The plan was to suck and fuck him until he realized how amazing... the new order is.
But he rejected me. The mere thought of it makes me hang my head in shame. One simple job, and I fucked it up. Of course I did. I'm a woman, and women are always fucking things up, as Dearest enjoys reminding me.
Out of all the things I could have failed on, this one seems so simple though. My biology has flawlessly shaped every curve of my body to attract a man... to draw him into interest in my holes... and I couldn't even do that.
Normally, I've found that humiliation thrills me somehow, and it pleases my entire body. From my brain to my eager womanhood. This brand of humiliation is the bad kind, however. To fail at sex.. what purpose does my life even have, if I can't successfully offer my holes to a man? None, that's what.
Thankfully, Dearest was there later that night to reprimand me and give my body all the humiliation I could ever dream of. I was able to please him in that regard, so at least I succeeded at something.
As I near the office, I can hear two male voices arguing. One is the voice of my Dearest, and the other belongs to Bogart.
Even in my current, subservient state, I know that Bogart is awful. He has always been a disgusting, fat pig. His misogynistic behavior used to bother me too, but now I realize how right he was.
That doesn't stop him from being gross though, and Dearest has been sure to remind me of what a foul, repulsive man he is. On the societal ladder, he does technically hold a rung higher than me... but he is at the bottom of all the males. No matter what job he holds in the Bureau.
Before I was safely collared by Dearest, I was terrified that Bogart would try to collar me first. He has always been such a slimy weasel. He treats women like objects, which makes sense, now that I think about it... because we are, but he... well honestly, most of the same things I hated about him, I also hated about Dearest, before I learned to love them.
As I ponder the reasons why I despised Bogart, I struggle to populate the list. Of course I always hated the way that he let his body go. Dearest hates that too, understandably. His stringy, balding hair and the sallow color of his flesh are still repulsive. His body is a bloated sack of shit.... but all my other reasons seem so silly now.
I hated the way he leered at us as we worked. Now I realize that it's only natural. The female body was designed to attract his attention. I used to hate the way he spoke down to all the female agents, but he was just ahead of the curve.
I used to object to the fact that he loves to touch our bodies in subtle, seemingly inappropriate ways... but in reality, that makes perfect sense too. How else would he display his desire to breed with us? That is literally our natural purpose. I was a fool for disliking it.
Dearest has informed me; however, that Bogart is a slimy, worthless loser. So I'm sure he must be. Still, I'm glad that I now know the real cause to hate him... instead of the petty, juvenile reasons I used to hold.
I knock softly on his door, as I was instructed to do. Inside, the arguing ceases, and I hear Dearest call, "Come in."
Stepping inside, I see the repulsive Bogart seated at his massive desk, and Dearest standing at attention.
"Ahh! Miss Abigail!" Bogart smiles, sinisterly. "I'm so glad you could join us. Gregory, give her the new orders."
Dearest's face is red with fury. I don't know what they have been arguing about, but if he asked me to, I'd be willing to dive over that desk and stab Bogart to death. How dare he anger my Dearest?
