The first thing he became aware of was that he was kneeling in front of his bed. Correction, what used to be his bed. These days he slept in the dog cage to the side of it. The second thing he noticed was all the metal he was wearing.
He looked down at himself. His stomach was flat and toned, all the better to see his manhood padlocked in its chastity cage. The cage was stainless steel, like the heavy ring in each of his nipples and in his nose. Around his neck he felt the cold weight of a solid metal collar. His wrists and ankles were behind his back but they too had similar accessories. Apart from all this permanent jewellery, he was naked.
His mistress and owner was sleeping late in what used to be his bed, arms and legs sticking carelessly out of a familiar blanket. It was her blanket now, her bed. Everything in the place belonged to her. It had been that way since the occupation. With her horns, it was easier for her to sleep on one ear. Even curled up on her side, her feet still hung over the edge of the bed. She stood a full head and shoulders taller than he did, not that he often had a chance to stand next to her. Usually he was on his knees, or crawling.
One of her hands was still holding the strapon she had used on him the previous night. There was a permanent marker in her other hand and that reminded him of the shopping list scrawled on his back. It was morning, he had an errand to run, and he was short on time.
The neighbourhood had changed. Much of it still looked like the war zone that it had been. Many buildings had burned down or been blown apart, when they weren't simply pulled down. Every wall that was still standing was either stitched with bullet holes or spattered with old, rusty stains. There were few people, and no children.
It was a short walk to the main road and an even shorter wait for his ride. This was a bike rickshaw with a ponygirl up front, chained to the pedals and handlebars. Instead of a covered bench there was a row of bike seats. Each one sported a big, greasy dildo.
He walked around to the pony girl to show her his back. His destination was written there, and in any case her posture collar and blinders prevent her from turning her head or using her peripheral vision. He made eye contact and that's when he recognized her. She used to be rich and famous. Now she was just a working animal. The constant outdoor exercise had given her thick, powerful haunches and a deep, all-over tan. She coughed through her bit gag and he realized he'd been staring. He smiled, embarrassed, and made his way to the nearest bike seat, which he screw himself onto with a grunt. He folded his arms behind his back, kicked the rickshaw frame twice, and then they were off.
A breeze washes over him as he headed for the metro station. Naked and mounted on a dildo, he was on display to everyone he passed.
He tried not to look at the hole in the sky, but there isn't much else to look at. The city was nearly empty. Most of the people outside were naked thralls. A blonde woman was sweeping the street, her wrists manacled to her cleaning implements. Now and again she emptied her dustpan into something that was a bin on top and a cage on the bottom. It followed her around with the aid of wheels and its occupant, who was able to scoot along by sticking her arms out of the cage.
As humiliating as the ride was, he couldn't argue that it was faster than walking. The ex-celebrity had powerful legs and haunches and a magnificent set of lungs. He could barely hear her breathing over the sound of well-oiled machinery.
A shadow fell over him. He looked up to see a squid-thing the size of a blimp. The living ship disappeared behind a building, its tentacles swimming through the air. He was getting close to the station and there still weren't many people. But then, eight out of ten men had died in the invasion and half the remaining population had been sold off-planet.
The taxi was slowing down. He could feel it in his prostate.
