Andropia Its A Mans World

This story is pure fantasy.

In real life we should never be cruel or disrespectful towards anyone, especially if they are vulnerable in any way.

Loving, consensual sex is wonderful.

Coercive, non-consensual or incestuous sex are illegal and extremely harmful.

It shouldn't be so, but reading about such things can be erotic. That isn't to condone them or to encourage anyone to act in a similar fashion.

We all have fertile imaginations and there is no harm in giving rein to them, so long we never cross the line from fantasy to reality.

The characters in my stories are all over 18 and the settings are purely fictional.

Mothers, wives, partners, girlfriends, daughters etc. - females in general - must

always

be treated with respect and kindness

.

Andropia - Part 1

Last month I qualified for a generous bonus. I serviced over 100 clients (104 to be precise). It's been done before but very rarely.

As the name implies Andropia is a male dominated society; run by males for the benefit of males.

In some countries what I do might be termed prostitution, but here it is regarded as a necessary public service.

Young females with the right attributes are conscripted to work

'

In Service'. It is regarded as an honour to serve the country in this way.

The thinking is that men of all ages - especially young men - are better able to achieve their full potential and function at the highest level if they are guaranteed sexual fulfillment.

I was selected for Service very soon after my eighteenth birthday. At my routine annual medical the doctor made me strip off completely and carried out a detailed and extensive examination, inside and out. It was much more thorough than any previous examination and I spent a lot of time on the gyno-chair with my ankles up in the stirrups; something I'm well used to now but wasn't then. Afterwards, he pronounced himself fully satisfied and then said he'd be recommending me for Service. "You should do very well," he said with a smile.

When I got home I told my parents what he'd said and Dad thought it a great honour. Mum didn't say anything.

A couple of days later a letter came for me with an appointment to attend an interview at the HR Department of our nearest Women's Centre. It wasn't so much an interview as an introduction; it seemed that the decision had already been made.

After waiting a little while on a bench outside a busy office, a man came out, called my name, and told me to follow him.

"So Melissa... I've seen your file and I've seen you. I think you'll do very well. Now what will happen - in a week or two - is that you'll receive a letter instructing you where you're to be based. It won't be far away, but we'll avoid sending you to a town where you have any connection. You'll be accommodated with other young women in a Maison de Service. Everything you need will be provided; you'll eat there and have your own room.

Each week the Maitre de Maison will post a rota for the following week. You'll work two six hour shifts every seven days. The days will vary. The hours are from 7.00 pm to 1.00 am The rest of the time is yours. You can do other work provided you work the shifts allocated to you. You'll be paid £20 for each client you service.

You'll be released from Service after two years. By that time you should have been able to accumulate substantial savings to help you in later life.

With the letter telling you which Maison de Service you'll be going to there'll be an appointment for contraceptive injections followed a few days later by an appointment for your Statutory Consummation. So you've a lot to be looking forward to."

With that he stood up and ushered me out of his office.

The letter for the contraceptive injection came after a few days, and was for the following week.

I had to go to the Women's Centre again where I was directed to a clinic with about four other patients waiting to be called. I hadn't been there long when a patient emerged from what I assumed was the doctor's surgery, obviously distressed and in pain. She was sobbing as she clutched her hands over her groin and pubic area. The same scene was repeated twice before it was my turn.

It turned out it wasn't a doctor doing the injections after all; just a male nurse.

"Melissa... isn't it? You're on my list for contraceptive injections. Up you get onto the gyno-chair. It won't take long."

As I climbed up onto the chair the nurse prepared a syringe. Once he'd done that he approached me and told me to lift my dress. "Right up over your belly please. Then, raise your knees and place your feet wide apart."

When I'd done all that he told me to shuffle down a little so my bottom was nearer the edge of the examination couch.

A moment later, without even asking me, he'd pulled aside the crotch of my cotton panties and was injecting me, not in my bottom or a thigh, but directly and deep into my clitoris; then around the vaginal opening and inside the vagina itself. I screamed; it hurt so much. He'd pinched down hard on my clitoris to expose it from under its protective hood. It was brutal.

Letting go of my panties they pinged back to cover my private parts. "Up you get," he said " You'll need to be injected every six months. An appointment will be sent to you in good time."

The pain was unbearable.I managed to maintain my composure until I was out of sight of the others waiting and then dissolved into tears.

Less than a week later two more letters arrived; one with the date of my Statutory Consummation (SC) and the other to let me know which Maison de Service I'd been assigned to.

My SC was arranged for 8.00 am on Wednesday the following week. The letter was quite graphic:

'... as is customary you will undergo full and vigorous penile penetration of your vagina, by a State Certified Consummator. It will last a minimum of 10 minutes, culminating in the ejaculation of semen inside the vagina.

... you should bring spare panties and a supply of sanitary pads or tampons for any post-coital bleeding or semen leakage.

... all Statutory Consummations must be witnessed and formally certified. Your father or nearest adult male relative must be present during the procedure and will be required to confirm the presence of semen inside your vagina.

Once certification is complete a qualified member of the Department for Women '

s medical team will examine you for tears or other injury, and will carry out any

appropriate treatment.

It is customary to offer the Consummator a small gratuity in advance of the procedure. '

I felt weak at the knees. My father would see it all. He'd have to examine me afterwards to make sure there was semen inside my vagina. How could he do that? It didn't bear thinking about.

Moving on I read that I would be naked for the procedure. The Consummator would wear a black hood so he couldn't be recognised. Unless there was any reason it couldn't be done that way, I would be made to bend over a bench with my legs parted wide for him to penetrate my vagina from behind. The act itself would take place in private with just the witness and the Consummator present. But beforehand I would be made to walk naked along the full length of the public viewing gallery (known to everyone as the infamous glass corridor). Spectators routinely gathered in the street outside to watch girls being paraded.

The same would happen afterwards, when I would be made to walk back along the corridor. Some poor girls who'd just had their SC had traces of blood and semen in their pubic hair and down their legs.

It was terrifying just to think about the ordeal facing me. I'd heard other girls mention such things in hushed tones but until today I'd no idea how degrading and barbaric it all was.

Some of the men were known to

masturbate as they watched. Some brought their wives and fucked them in broad daylight.

When I showed the letter to mother, she was sympathetic but said there was nothing she could do.

"It happens to all of us at your age darling. It hurts and it's degrading; I know from what was done to me. They're brutes; always big men with big penises. Really big in some cases because of what they do every day. But you will recover; it'll just take time. I'm sorry darling. It's part of being a woman. It's our destiny."

When the day arrived my father and I set off for the Women's Centre and arrived there in ample time. I was immediately taken by a stern older man through a door to a changing area where he ordered me to strip and place all my clothes inside a locker. Then, without taking his eyes off me, he led me to the washing area. Handing me a towel he ordered me to shower.

He continued to watch me intently. I turned my back and tried to cover myself but he moved around to where he could see me again.

Once I was out from under the shower and had dried myself I was led down a corridor and into a room. "A doctor will be with you shortly," the man said.

I was beginning to feel shivery when the door opened and a man wearing a white coat walked in. Taking a stethoscope from around his neck he began his examination. After checking that my temperature, pulse, respiration and blood pressure were all within normal limits he told me to bend over. "Feet wide apart," he instructed. "Just so I can check down here."

I felt his breath on my exposed vulva as I stood perfectly still, bent over and touching my toes, while his fingers found their way through my thicket of pubic hair before prising open my labia. Then his fingers were deep inside my vagina, stretching me open as if I were a piece of meat for his enjoyment.

Whatever he was looking for it took ages and didn't feel at all professional.

Eventually, he stood up again, said he was finished, and left the room. Moments later the other man returned. "Come," he instructed. "Follow me."

He took me to an area where four other girls of my age were seated along a bench. They were all naked too; looking nervous and uncomfortable.

Opposite them there were two doors about ten metres apart, with a pair of much larger doors between them. No one dared talk; we wouldn't have known what to say. Then the silence was broken by an anguished female scream from inside the big doors; followed by another and another until it was unbearable to listen.

After about ten minutes the screams became grunts and cries; then sobbing. Finally, the doors opened and a little blonde girl staggered out on the arms of a big man wearing a hood over his head, and a cloak. There was blood between her legs and she walked uncomfortably, as if it hurt her to close them. A moment later she and the man disappeared through the smaller door on the left to begin what I realised must be the infamous walk of shame.

Next, a different man with a hood over his head and a different coloured cloak, stepped out through the large pair of doors and said loudly, "Helga?"

The girl next to me stood up and was led through the other of the two small doors; as it opened I heard shouting and loud cries from the crowd outside. "Fuck her" they shouted, "Fuck her". I knew that in just a short time I would follow her, to be met with the same cries as I was paraded, naked, in front of them all, on my way to having my own consummation.

The same pattern was repeated until it was my turn to stand. Another hooded man, with a hood and a long black cloak, pushed me through the door so roughly that I stumbled and nearly fell flat on the floor. A cry went up from outside.

Regaining my equilibrium I saw that there were 20 - 30 men and a few teenage boys outside. As far as I could tell none were masturbating but they were leaping around and making all manner of lewd gestures. The Consummator took hold of my shoulders and turned me to face the men, who went wild with excitement, pointing to my breasts and lower region. "Open your legs," my Consummator commanded. "So they can see your cunt properly."

We inched our way along the glass fronted gallery, as the men outside grew more and more excited. Then, just as we were about to leave and enter the Consummation Suite, the Consummator opened his cloak and exposed himself.

As the crowd cheered him, I saw his penis. It hung down loosely between his legs, almost reaching his knees. The head - or glans to give it its proper name - was completely hidden under a prepuce (or foreskin). The shaft was thick and veiny.

I didn't like to imagine how big it would be when he had an erection. I felt my cunny contract tightly in fear of what lay ahead for me.

The Consummation area was a large barnlike space with a central passageway and cubicles either side. Inside each there was a bench or apparatus of some sort. My Consummator looked at them all before deciding on the one he would use for me

"That one," he said, heading towards a devilish looking apparatus, upholstered in red, with restraints and other fixings designed to prevent any resistance and to hold my legs wide open for him to penetrate me from behind.

He dragged it out and made some adjustments. "On you get," he said. Then, when he'd positioned me how he wanted, with my vulva stretched open and in full view, he called for my father to join us...

TO BE CONTINUED

Part 2

Melissa has her Statutory Consummation before being put to work at the Maison de Service.