Chains in Mind

by S. May

  It might have seemed strange, for someone who was obsessed with fairness, to be happy to control and enslave men, but in fact what Nicola thought of as fairness was really about getting even. Men had been in control for thousands of years, and now they deserved to pay. Never mind that those were different men, and that Nicola had not personally suffered: her sense of grievance was strong, and, happily, provided all the justification she needed to control and exploit males.

  She was white, but she had brought a lanky Asian-looking young man with her, who went off to join the rest. The waiter slaves were herded closer, with a few pushes and casual smacks, as the ladies started their second glasses of sherry and polished off the food.

  “Well, ladies, shall we go through?” Patricia suggested, after they had been talking for twenty minutes or so. “Please, this way.”

  She led them through to the dining room, and showed them the five chairs set round the grand table. Each one was the height of a comfortable office or dining chair, but with arm rests and fully upholstered solid panels below the arms, so that nothing below arm level could be seen from the sides or the rear. The chair stuck out oddly at the back: a polished wood surface at the level of the seat extended behind the back rest for three feet: it made the top of an enclosed box. The squarish end wall of the box had a horizontal line of brass hinges halfway down, meaning that the whole top could be swung open. Patricia moved to the nearest one, unfastened the solid brass catch on the box lid just behind the back rest, and opened it.

  “Katherine, this is your chair.”

  Inside was James. He was lying on his back, naked, with his knees pulled up to his chest. His neck was vertically below the chair back, and his head wasn’t visible. The whole interior was lined with a plastic inner shell that could obviously be removed for cleaning, and the floor sloped up towards the head, supporting his back. Running across from one side to the other, near the top of the box, a few inches from the foot end, was a wooden beam with four semicircular depressions cut out of it. The boy’s ankles and wrists were resting in these - wrists on the outside and ankles between them - and one could see that fixed to the underside of the lid was a corresponding beam, so that when the lid was closed his wrists and ankles would automatically be trapped in position as if he were in the stocks. With his head out of sight, James couldn’t see what was going on, but even though, with the lid open, his limbs were free, he stayed obediently, passively, in position as he was examined.

  “Notice this little tube,” Patricia pointed out.

  Below the wooden beam, James was wearing some leather straps that pulled a black plastic tube, about three inches in diameter and about four inches long, tight against his groin: his genitals were hidden within it. A bicycle cable was attached to a fitting in the side wall of this tube near his belly; the cable snaked away and disappeared under the seat of the chair.

  “That cable connects to a lever just under the right arm rest,” Patricia explained. “When you pull the lever, it pulls on a little piston in that tube, which squeezes his, uh, equipment. I guarantee it will get his attention: a ball crusher, indeed.” She smiled with satisfaction. James still did not stir.

  Katherine had not fitted James with nipple rings, so another thin leather strap circled his chest, prevented from riding up or down by ample quantities of duck tape, sticking it down to his skin. The strap held in place on his nubs two little vices, which had clearly been cannibalised directly from bicycle brakes. A cable curved away from each.

  “Those cables connect to a lever under the left arm rest. Pull on that lever, and you are pinching his nipples,” Patricia said. She looked up at the semicircle of ladies. “The convention is: right lever for more effort, left lever to ease off. Okay?”

  She checked that James’s wrists and ankles were in position, and then closed the lid, locking him in place. She put her hands on the chair back and pulled. The chair was heavy with the weight of a full-grown man inside, but it was on good castors. Slowly, it eased back from the table, revealing the seat of the chair to her guests.

  The cushion of the seat was of soft red leather, in contrast to the pretty floral fabric of the rest of the upholstery. The unusual feature, however, was the oval hole in it, against which James’s face was pressed. He looked up at them, blinking, seemingly dazed, as his view of the underside of the dining table was replaced by the sight of five ladies looking down at him.

  “There are elastic straps holding his head,” Patricia said, “for your comfort: so he will give way under you, with the rest of the cushion, rather than be a hard lump to sit on. It also means he can pull back to adjust position or to take a breath for a moment if he needs to, but not for long, because his neck will get tired fighting the elastic.”

  She pointed out the lever below the right arm rest. “Here’s the control. Just pull for service.” She smiled.

  Nicola cooed with appreciation. “And you’ve got Jamil in one of these?” A predatory grin spread across her face. Jamil would be swamped, smothered, by the rolling folds of her backside. He could work to please her, while she held his balls in a vice, and while she dined and ignored him. That would demonstrate the new order.

  “Yes, Nicola, your chair is over there,” Patricia pointed.

  There was a little restiveness, a little embarrassment, amongst the other three women: they had never gratified themselves in public before, using a male or not, and particularly not at a formal lunch. But the chairs were very discreet: nothing would be visible to anyone else. And, which was far more important, it was Patricia who was suggesting it: although they were not really aware of it, it was very hard for them to think badly of anything that she proposed.

  With only a little hesitation, they took their seats. Now it was clear to them why Patricia had insisted on a dress code of loose skirts or dresses: they could hitch them up at the back unobtrusively, almost unnoticeably, as they sat down.

  Almost at once, most of the ladies got distracted expressions on their faces. Nicola reached immediately for the control lever and pulled it firmly: instantly a tiny muffled wail could be heard, and after a few moments Nicola sighed in new satisfaction.

  When the ladies had moved through to the dining room, the waiters had headed to the kitchen to have their trays reloaded. Now five of them entered, each of them carrying on his tray a bowl of soup and a side plate of croutons, and tottered on his knees over to a lady.

  “I’m afraid you have to take things from the tray yourself,” Patricia said. “I’m sorry, but you can see that the boys are a little tied up.” She smiled faintly.

  Each lady turned to her left, where her personal waiter was doing his utmost to hold the tray still for her, and successfully transferred the bowl and side plate to the table. At the same time, two of the remaining waiters were going round the table, one carrying a tray of glasses of red wine, one of white.

  When all the ladies were served, Patricia picked up her spoon and sipped her soup, which was a signal for everyone else to start. She looked round the table, pleased: the effect was just what she had intended. The slave that she, herself, had underneath her was in fact giving her the gentle pleasure that she wanted, right now; his nose was a stimulation right at the front of her sex, and his tongue was licking gently down her outer lips on either side; but, thinking of her duties as a hostess, she wanted to check that everything was working as it should: she pulled the lever, and held it. She could feel as much as hear the groan of distress that resulted. The boy’s nose began to nod back and forth, and his tongue took on a new urgency. Patricia made a little noise in her throat, and let go. She briefly squeezed the left lever, simultaneously shifting her position in her seat slightly: the slave’s work returned to a more gentle caress. Yes, most satisfactory.

  As the soup was being finished off, Patricia looked round at her guests. Katherine and Amanda were still looking a little shocked, but it was the pleasant t
hrill of doing something naughty, rather than any real dismay. Nicola was clearly delighted, and Susan was enjoying herself, accepting the new experience as something to which she was entitled. Good.

  “Well, if I could have most of your attention,” she said, “let’s get started. Katherine and Susan, would you like to talk about the Sallis and Company project?”

  Katherine looked at Susan and smiled reassuringly, but it was hardly necessary: Susan was confident of her own abilities, and she knew that she had done well. She cleared her throat. Harry beneath her, worshipfully working at her soft flesh, was a distraction, but also a comfort.

  “Well, as we all know,” she began, “we have been running a pilot project at Sallis and Company - Katherine owns the managing director - since June. The aim was to determine how far we could modify the status and behaviour of males and females, without giving the males the full enslavement treatment, and without selecting naturally dominant females. The point was, to affect larger numbers of people - there were one hundred and forty-seven employees at the start of the experiment - without giving them any secret information, anything that might alert the authorities.

  “The techniques we used included piping mood-altering drugs through the air-conditioning into the male and female toilets - obviously different drugs to affect them in different ways. In addition, we corrupted the work allocation system, to improve the apparent performance of the women at the expense of the men, and so justify radical disparities in salary.

  “I got close to key women in each department, acting as an example for new standards of behaviour - which already, subconsciously, felt right to the women because of the drugs - and tried to guide them to positions of control over the males.

  “I would say we have been very successful. Of those employees, forty-five were female; one hundred and two were male. Eleven males resigned from their jobs, and we’ve lost them; twenty-seven are hanging on, in difficult conditions, trying to keep up, but might cave in eventually and join one of the following two categories; thirty-four have now accepted low-status secretarial positions serving a female, at her beck and call; and thirty are now house-husbands or full-time domestic servants, kept by one or other of their former female colleagues.”

  A murmur of appreciation went round the table as the statistics were presented.

  “Well, Susan, Katherine, that’s really excellent work.” Patricia was delighted. “Really excellent. I am informed that when they are no longer being exposed to the air-borne drugs, we can expect a small amount of regression, but that neither males nor females are likely to go back on the decisions and new attitudes that they formed while under the influence, particularly if their new habits of thought and action continue to be reinforced in their new roles. Well this is very satisfactory. I think we need some open discussion about where we go from here.”

  James, trapped and bound under the seat of his mistress, Ms. Watson, worked attentively to please her. She was keeping force on the right-hand lever, squeezing his testicles uncomfortably, but it felt as if she was only using fingertip pressure. He interpreted this to mean that he should keep on as he was doing. His tongue stretched and flicked between her inner folds.

  Pleasing her was the most important thing in the world. He never thought of himself any more. From the moment he woke up, until he was permitted to sleep, his overriding thought was how best to serve her. Her aims, the aims of this whole group of ladies, were not ones that he had ever shared, and, if he thought about it, he still wished that she felt differently. But that didn’t matter: he didn’t matter. What did matter was that he work wholeheartedly for her goals and her ideals.

  He could hear reasonably clearly as young Ms. Denton catalogued the extent of the ladies’ success at Sallis and Company. He felt a kind of despairing joy at his part in it,that he had helped to betray all those males into the power of women. A part of him was ashamed, but it was the wish of his mistress, so it was what he had worked for, and he would do it again. He had done well.

  Mistress’s buttocks and thighs, on top of him, shifted slightly, rocking his head from side to side, and he could hear small clatters of crockery and cutlery as the next course was served. His face was very warm. The musky taste in his mouth was overwhelming, as usual: partly just because it was his mistress, but also because it included the faint taint of her pee, to which, in effect, he had an addiction. If Mistress was very pleased with him, perhaps she would pee in his mouth later. A fitting reward for his betrayal of men.

  He thought about how his life had changed, from that lunch when he had first met Ms. Watson. He was property now, and he did not resent it. Just one of her slaves, like Hubert, outside polishing the car. Concentrating on his service took his mind off the ache in his arms and legs, folded and confined in their wooden box. His discomfort was unimportant. He lived only to serve.

  The conversation moved on as the meal progressed, and became wide-ranging. It was generally agreed that, although an office had been a good place for a first experiment, business in general was not the first priority for conversion: that position belonged to the police and the legal system, closely followed by politicians.

  “We must remember how vulnerable we are,” Patricia insisted. “We need to stifle investigations before they begin.”

  Amanda was obviously a centre of attention. Although she had control of the local police, almost all the officers had not been touched. She mused about how easy or difficult it would be to change the culture of the force, as the culture at Sallis and Company had been changed.

  “I think it will be possible,” she said at last, “but I would like to admit several more ladies, already in key positions, fully into our group: prosecution service lawyers, magistrates. Yes, I think it can be done locally, and then replicated around the country.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Patricia agreed, “there is a limit to what five people can accomplish. By all means start sounding them out, and then let me know when they’re ready for treatment.” She looked round, alert for any sign of resentment or real consciousness among the other four ladies that they themselves had been treated to make them completely loyal to the movement. She found none, and she relaxed.

  “Well, shall we say that’s agreed, then?” she said. “We will concentrate next on the local police and judiciary, and if that goes well, we can reproduce our efforts round the country, while simultaneously starting to attack other areas of life in this area, with greater assurance of safety.”

  There was general agreement, round the table. Patricia pulled the lever under the right arm of her chair, and the slave’s face she was sitting on trembled with distress, an interesting sensation in itself, and started licking and sucking urgently to satisfy her. She smiled in satisfaction, settling back, watching the other ladies enjoying themselves in the same way, as the slave waiters, naked except for collar and bow tie, tottered in on their knees, holding their trays before them, to offer the dessert.

  This was the beginning of the revolution. In Patricia’s mind, magnificent visions of the future unfolded: a future in which all males would be subjugated, enslaved; when a boy pulling a pony cart under the whip would be a common sight in the streets; when males would work all their lives for their owner’s comfort and convenience, and receive nothing in return except enough food to keep them alive. No female should ever have to do menial work. As she let her imagination roam, again she yanked her right-hand lever, and moaned in delight as the tongue beneath her became frantic in its attempt to please. Great days were coming, she was sure.

  The future belonged to women.

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