Femtech Industries Incorporated
"Hi sexy," said Sandy to Carl.
He looked up from the ground where he was sat, surrounded by his few meagre possessions. Was the cute girl mocking him? Was that cruelty in her brown eyes or was it actually a spark of desire? He hadn't been looked at that way in a long time. Was he being set up for a joke?
"Don't talk much, cutie?" she said to him, "I'm not kidding around, you know, I really do think you look like a nice guy."
"If this is some kind of insult?" he asked. She caught the weariness in his voice.
"No insult, hon. You're clearly down on your luck, thought I'd try cheering you up. Or don't you like it when a woman takes the lead?"
Carl was flummoxed. He liked that just fine, but he'd been on the streets for four months now, and it didn't feel like he deserved such praise. Not anymore.
Sandy spoke again, "I'll see you around, don't be a stranger."
Sandy kept coming back to see him, drawing him out, finding out as much of his story as he would tell. She sized him up. Underneath the dirt and the bad clothes there was a good body there. No drug use to speak of, and he seemed amenable to her always taking the lead. She started bringing him food and water, a few clothes, little things to make his life easier.
Sandy hunted through the streets for Carl, knowing this would be the day. It was dark, cold, wet, and showed no signs of getting any better. The boy's resolve had been weakening these past few weeks; he no longer treated her with the same suspicion he had those first few times. Now they were friends, of sorts. She rounded the corner and spotted him in a doorway.
"Carl! Oh I'm so glad I found you! You must be so cold out here."
"Hi Sandy," said Carl, his teeth chattering, "I'll be fine. Had worse nights."
"I doubt that. Why aren't you in a hostel?"
"Don't get on with any of them who stay there."
"Will you be all right? I'm worried about you, Carl," she said. It was a half-honest thing to say. She had no use for him dead, after all. And it would be a better life than this, at least in most ways.
"I'll be fine."
"I don't think that's true. We're friends, aren't we?"
"Sure we are. You've never asked for anything from me, and you're a good person to bring me all this food. Why?" he asked, suspicion rising.
"Won't you come stay at my house, just until it gets warmer?" Or at least, she thought, until she could have him shipped out.
Carl hesitated. Sandy saw the doubt in his eyes, knew he was wavering. She offered him a flask, filled with hot, steaming tea. He drank some down as he thought it over. Sandy watched for the tell-tale signs, skin flushing, pupils dilating. After less than two minutes, the drugs seemed to have taken effect. They were subtle, gentle things, only reinforcing something the subject already wanted to do.
"Please, Carl, come stay with me."
He suddenly felt the dam inside him break. He really could trust her, couldn't he? It seemed like the logical next step. He got up, gathered his things, and followed her to her car. It was warm inside and he felt like he could almost drift to sleep there and then. Sandy drove her car into the garage, making sure no one was on the dark street to see them enter. She gave Carl a hot meal and more tea, then sent him to bed.
Sandy waited half an hour and then crept upstairs, opening the door to the spare bedroom. Its carefully oiled hinges gave no hint of her entrance, and she moved quietly through the sparsely furnished room to Carl's side. She needn't have taken such care, but in her line of business it paid to be cautious. Carl slept deeply, the extra drugs she had given him now hard at work. She set down her kit bag next to the bed and opened it up.
Sandy pulled the covers aside and cut away Carl's underwear with her shears, exposing a nice cock and balls, which she thought were a bit on the hairy side. She produced heavy shackles from the bag and locked his arms and legs, spread-eagled, to the stout bedposts. Then she had Carl inhale a vapour that would rob him of the ability to speak for the next twelve hours.
Sandy took up a syringe, labelled only "Z". She jabbed it into Carl's backside and pushed down on the plunger, then whispered good night to the sleeping boy. She had used Z on enough males now to know just how to handle a Zombified male. When he woke, she would condition him to be unable to escape for the next three days, while she waited for Fem-tech Industries to collect him. Leaving the helpless captive to sleep, she sent an encrypted email to her boss. Capture complete.
******************
Olivia prepared herself for the final interview. She wanted this job like no other. Femtech never recruited openly; when they had approached her, she had had to sign a lengthy non-disclosure agreement just to get them to tell her they might be interested in hiring her. She knew, now, that they hired just women, engineers mostly, and then only after an extensive and secret background check before the first approach was even made.
She had no problem working for a female-only company. As the superior sex, she thought all businesses should be female-led. Her succession of boyfriends had varied in the extent to which they agreed with her. The best had lasted four months before she had grown bored with him, but she had savoured punishing and humiliating him almost every day. She had taken his anal virginity with her strapon, another notch on its belt. Femtech demanded no attachments from its prospective employees, so she had gotten rid of him. She had fed information on him to another local domme, even a few pictures. A few weeks later, she had received some back - he seemed happy as that domme's newest slave, which was just as well. As far as Olivia could tell, his new position in the domme's household was a permanent one.
Olivia adjusted her suit and waited to be called in. There didn't seem to be any other candidates attending today, so she wasn't quite sure what the wait was for. She hitched up her knee length black leather boots, which made her feel powerful, desirable. They matched her hair too, black against her pale skin. Her mind wandered to the time she had given a spanking wearing the outfit, but she brought her thoughts back on track. A few minutes later, she was called in.
Olivia went through into the interview room, at the back of a small office, obviously rented temporarily by Femtech. She was pleased to find the two interviewers, both female, obviously, to be dressed much as she was. They motioned her to sit down and ran through her work experience and qualifications; both impressive for one so young.
"I'll be honest with you, Olivia," said the lead recruiter, a tall asian woman who had introduced herself as Julie, "we already know you're qualified. But I want to ask you some more personal questions to see if you'd be the right fit for us. Would that be OK?"
"That would be fine, Julie," said Olivia, smiling.
"Excellent, thank you. What do you think of men, Olivia?"
Olivia paused, taking the time to think about her response. She knew that Femtech had done some digging into her background. How far had they gone? What kind of question was this, anyway? It was a strange interview, but then it was a strange company, operating in the shadows. She still didn't know what they actually made, only that it required skilled engineers. She breathed in and decided to answer honestly.
"I think they're the inferior sex," she said, relieved to be able to to just say it out loud. Both interviewers nodded in response.
"Go on," said Julie, "please tell me more."
"Where do I start?" she laughed, "It's just so obvious. They're less intelligent, less empathetic, much more suited to follow than to lead. They've messed up this whole world, suppressed countless women of potential, and for what? So they can keep having the same pissing contest all over again."
The interviewer skilfully drew Olivia out on the finer points of male inferiority. She confirmed that Olivia thought just as they did, that all men should serve under female leadership. That the world as it stood was unjust. That it would take a revolution to turn things around.
"What makes you want to work for Femtech?"
"You give female engineers like me a real chance, it seems. That's enough."
"Let me tell you a little more about Femtech," said the lead interviewer. By this time, the only exit to the interview room was guarded by four well-trained women, armed with cattle prods and tasers. They kept themselves very quiet, so the interviewee would never know they were just beyond the door.
"Femtech wants women to lead. To lead everything, that is. We're a female-led engineering firm, and we specialise in technologies of male control and restraint."
"What?" said Olivia, stunned.
"Technologies that, when used on male humans, can bring them under female control. Technologies of restraint that can prevent male violence. Drugs that can turn a man obedient, for a short time. Inventions that harness men - sometimes quite literally - to the female will. Technologies we want you to develop, improve, reinvent."
"Oh," said Olivia, then fell silent. She had fantasised about such a world, even written a manifesto for such a society and published it anonymously on the web. Now she found that a group of women not only thought like she did, but had done something about it.
