Saturday, February 13, 2016


(Note from Thomas Lavalle: I first came across the femdom fiction writer cybernamed "Eosuchus" on Mark Remond's Worshipping Your Wife blog. Sadly, Mark has lost touch with Eosuchus, but passed along to me one of his older stories, " I SOLD YOU TODAY," a two-parter set in an alternate future with state-sanctioned femdom marriages. I’m taking the liberty of reprinting it here, but will happily take it down if contacted by the author. Where are you, Eosuchus?)

Part One of “I SOLD YOU TODAY”

“Sell me?”

He was stunned. He knew things had been going downhill for a few months. He knew that his lovely, dominant wife was no longer interested in dominating him very much. She wasn’t even bothering to cuckold him in obvious ways like she had during the winter. Back then she’d made him dress her for her dates and then clean her up with his tongue when she got home. She’d really enjoyed that, he knew, because while he swallowed some other man’s sperm, she would tell him all about her date and how they’d gone to some fabulous hotel and how much money the guy had spent to impress her and how she’d made the guy strip naked for her, and introduced the guy to the beginning stages of Female Domination, and then how she’d fucked the guy’s brains out and how big his cock was and how hard it stayed, for hours at a time.

And all the time, while she was having the guy give her the rumpy-pumpy to orgasm after orgasm, she knew that her slave husband was at home hand-washing her panties, scrubbing the kitchen and vacuum cleaning the house. She got a huge kick out of all that. But he was so totally dominated now, so completely enslaved, that for her the thrill was gone.

“See, what I like is the chase,” she’d told him many times. “I like to get a guy hot for me, desperate for me, begging on his knees. Then I like to break him and take him down. Get him used to my ass on his face. Get him into taking a good beating whenever I feel like giving him one. Take him with the strap-on like he’s the girl. Turning him into my personal servant, my housemaid, my total slave. She would grin, listening to the sound of his kisses on her toes. “Like you.”

That had been then, this was now.

“But…” he sputtered. He’d stopped massaging her. Normally that would have put him in acute danger of a whipping.

“You heard me. I checked out the Slave Market Report at the Femme Domme Society. They have a rating system?” She was up-talking, so he knew she was really excited.


He was still shaking, only in his bare feet though, since he wore nothing in the house except his chastity device and his slave panties. Well, since he hadn’t been outside in more than a year, that was all that he ever wore.

“Yeah, you feed in some pictures of the slave and fill out a form, you know? It asks questions like– how big is the slave’s cock, how good is the slave at cooking, or giving oral, or whatever.”

He was feeling a chill down his spine. This didn’t sound like a joke, unh-uh. Not at all.

“Wait, you can’t sell me. I mean, we’re married.”

She laughed. Put her head back and roared. “Oh, baby, you are such a deluded dude.”

He felt terribly foolish and vulnerable. What did she know that he didn’t? She was studying him, her green eyes could penetrate his mind, he knew. She’d always been able to read him like an open book. He’d loved her, he still did, he worshipped her, in fact, but he knew she was no longer interested in him. It was heartbreaking. He felt tears welling up in his eyes.

“I did what you wanted. I thought you liked having me as your, uh...” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say the word.

“My slave. And you didn’t read the Advanced Marriage Contract either, did you?” Her smile was cruel now. She was loving this.

“N-n-n-no, I didn’t.”

“In a marriage set up under Female Lead Relationship Rules, okay? Where the
Wife is the acknowledged Primary Income earner and has the primary share in all property ownership?”

He stared at her. He’d given up his job on her orders. He’d signed everything over to her on her demand. He’d surrendered completely to her will.

“Then the male party may sign himself over as Chattel Property to the Wife. It was Clause Eleven. You signed it, I know. I made sure of that.”

All he remembered was a fat contract that he had to sign in several places in duplicate. It had been under the Department of Health and Human Services, the Marriage Division. He remembered the headline. And afterward, she’d spanked him and sat on his face for hours. So now he learned that he’d signed himself over to her as a piece of property. Well, he’d always felt that he belonged to her that way. He’d been happy to be her slave.

“See,” she said. “They put that in after the National Femme Domme Society got Senator Julia Masterman to get it through the Senate. You don’t remember that?”

He shook his head. He didn’t know things like that. He was just a slave to a Dominant Wife. He knew about cooking and cleaning and doing her pedicure. The days when he watched the news or used a computer seemed long ago, in another life.

“Yeah, it was just for the FemDom community, but you know, we’re an important group in this state. So the President signed it. I bet the First Lady was leaning hard on him over that, too.”

The President was a man. The first male president in a while, too, and he’d heard that he might be the last one, ever. Women had definitely taken over the government.

“So, anyway, we’ll file for divorce under the Female Led rules. That means I keep everything, except your chastity device and one pair of panties. Everything else will be provided by your new owner. Doesn’t that sound great?”

“My 401K?” he said in a kind of despairing bleat.

“Honey, you’re a slave now. You don’t contribute to that anymore. I get all that,
all your belongings. You know, they’re working on slave retirement schemes right now, because some older slaves are already being retired by their owners, and of course they don’t have anything to live on. So the state is setting up slave farms, where old slaves will spend their final years, working for the good of society, growing vegetables and stuff.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry, women are in charge now. You won’t be making any decisions, ever again.”

He stared at her. She was so beautiful, so deadly, so irresistible, he ached to be allowed to kneel before her and provide oral servitude. He longed to feel the collar on his neck and the tug of the leash towards the bedroom. But now, he knew, that tug would never come again.

Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “I don’t recall telling you to stop.”

He dropped his eyes and resumed massaging her lovely, left leg, smoothing and pressing the hamstring muscle between his fingers. She played tennis, jogged, worked out at the gym and did yoga. Her body was a thing of perfection, and she knew perfectly well how to use it as a weapon to subdue and enslave men. As he reached her knee, she brought her legs together and then rolled onto her stomach.

“Massage my ass,” she said with a chuckle. She knew his weakness in that direction. Her ass was sculpted by exercise and diet into a gorgeous testament to the beauty of Woman. He had kissed those smooth, perfect globes many, many times and had worshipped with his face pressed between them for many, many hours. Just working on those sacred muscles, which were firm, even hard under pressure, brought his penis up tightly into the chastity tube. It bucked a little until the chain tightened and held him down.

He could not have erections. Erections were only allowed under the gaze and control of his owner, whoever She might be. She held the key to his chastity device and thereby to his sexuality. He continued the massage and after a while she spoke again.

“You always loved my ass, didn’t you?” she chuckled. “I know you did, you were always so responsive to it. Well, don’t worry, your new owner will have one, too. Perhaps not quite as pretty as mine, but you’ll get used to it.”

He squeezed, released, gathered his hands together and squeezed again, trying not to weep at the thought of never worshiping at this altar of Female Beauty again.

“Anyway, I visited a slave agency today and talked to a broker. She gave me
the documents, pointed me to their website and even helped upload the pictures of you.”

He listened in a state of stunned disbelief. It sounded so mundane, so normal. A Dominant Wife went in and sold her husband and then went out and got another one. Slave husbands had become goods, like cars, or horses, or something.

“Guess what? I had five responses in an hour. Three in-state, one from Florida and one from Hawaii. Isn’t that great?”

He felt an uptick of interest. Was five responses good? He didn’t have the faintest idea. Hawaii?

“You always were a cute guy, and I’ve kept you nice and slim and well toned, and you do have a nice, big cock. Plus, you got your cooking diploma and you passed the State Housecleaning Boards with an A. The broker said you would get some interest. Ladies like men who can cook, and if they’re big down there, then that’s a bonus. So, anyway, I called the two local ladies who bid for you? One underbid on you, so I went with the other.”

“You sold me?” it just slipped out. He sucked in a breath, terrified that he’d gone too far and would get a whipping.

“Yep. Her name is Brenda McKay, she’s forty two and really rather, uh, voluptuous. She bid $6,000, and we settled at $7,500, which isn’t bad at all, really. She’s coming to collect you in about half an hour, too.”


He’d stopped massaging again. His jaw had dropped too. He gasped. She turned her head, her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. He trembled.

“If you stop my massage again without permission, she’ll be picking up her new slave with a red hot, striped, purple ass on him. You hear me?”

He forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand. Gathering the marvelous, solid ass muscle in his hand and pressing, squeezing and relaxing it.

“I have the documentation, so I can transfer title to her. You’ll have to have a cyber wedding, too, to make it legal. But it only takes a couple of minutes now. You see, once you’ve married into a Female Led Marriage under the law, you stay there unless the Wife specifically releases you. And I didn’t, did I?”

He could imagine the cruel little smile on her lips as she said that. Her phone rang. He hurried to fetch it from the sofa in the living room. The number was unfamiliar to him, but he handed it to her and resumed massaging her ass.

“Oh, hi,” she said. “Yes, Floral Park. Just go right down sixty-two until you come to the big box mall there. Take the right, then the first left turn. I’m about half a mile farther down. The house is pink with white trim, my neighbors are pale blue on one side and white on the other.

“Yes, he’s all ready. Nothing to pack, after all, is there?” She chuckled. “Well, it was a bit of a shock, but I’m sure you’ll have him warmed up quickly. You sound very experienced.”

Was that good? An experienced Domme? He had no idea. She’d been his first and she’d been experienced enough by the time he fell under her control and signed that fatal marriage contract.

Press together the beautiful ass-flesh of the left buttock. Compress it smoothly between his hands, dig his thumbs in and bring them down together, placing smooth, stress releasing pressure on the big muscles there. He tried to concentrate entirely on the task in hand.

Of course, now that she had her phone in her hand she called Annie, her best friend and co-conspirator in things fun and devilish. “Yeah, he’s sold. $7,500. Great, yeah? Let’s go out later. Coco’s? Maybe we can pick up some studs, take them to the Pink House. Could be good. Celebrate, yeah?

“How did he take it? Oh, he’s sobbing a little. Well, I know, and he’s gonna miss
my ass. Well, I know, it’s the best looking ass for miles.” She laughed. “Yeah. Yeah. I know. Yeah. Totally. Like, what else is new?” She laughed some more. “Oh, he’ll get over it. What’s she like? Well, not like me, a bit heavier, shall we say. Oh no, not fat or anything. Oh no, she’s more, like, well, voluptuous is the word that keeps coming up in my mind. The picture she sent me to use for the cyber wedding was pretty amazing. Where? Oh, up in the hills somewhere. Nice looking house. Bigger than mine. I don’t think she has other slaves. I mean, you can only marry one.”

More laughter. “Have to wait for the next President for that! I could use two or three at a time, I guess. But you know, you’d have to do stuff with each one to keep them happy. You don’t want sulky slaves that you have to whip all the time. And they’re expensive. Did you see they hiked the price of Science Diet by two dollars? Plus the Slave Health Plan went up forty bucks this month. It all adds up.”

He continued massaging the prettiest ass for miles around, but his mind was full of questions. Voluptuous? Brenda McKay? And behind the questions was the looming certainty. He had been sold. He was going to be divorced, and then remarried via a website and then taken away by his new Dominant Wife to a new life, somewhere up in the hills.

And there it was, underneath his sorrow, lurking like some crazy, unbeatable weed, that thrilling FemDom lust. He knew it had gone out of his marriage. He knew she didn’t even care to whip him anymore. But he still loved her and that made him sad. And yet, the thought of this Brenda McKay coming to take him away was arousing that old FemDom lust in his soul. He felt torn in half by it all.

But he never stopped massaging her, aware that she would make good on that threatened whipping no matter what. And then they heard a car door slam. Heels clicked up the walk and the doorbell rang. She got off the table, pointed to the slave corner and went to answer the door herself. He knelt down in the corner, penitent, humble, and yet aroused. His fate had been determined. There was nothing he could do about it. He’d been sold to another woman. He heard their voices—hers and another female’s, that one a little deeper, a little husky.

Heels clacked on the floor. “He’s in here, all yours.”

End of Part One ~ Continued in Part Two

Copyright Permian Systems 2008

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