Strapon Tournament

Michael pushed the hot iron back and forth across the light blue board. The searing heat smoothed every crease and wrinkle in his Goddess’ suit jacket. He was ironing her work clothes; a task he performed every week. The gentle swish-swish of the iron was a pleasing sound. One he remembered fondly from his childhood. In those days, it was almost exclusively women who did the ironing. Oh, how things had changed.

Once finished, he set the iron upright, unplugged it and left it to cool. He collected Mistress’ clothes, which were now displayed neatly on hangers. Not those thin metal hangers or the cheap plastic kind. Smooth hangers with wooden encasement over the steel interior. He’d learned in recent years that those were the best kind. He’d learned so much thanks to his new life with Mistress Janet.

Chief among those experiences was a crash course in domestic servitude that had trained him into an obedient male submissive and efficient house husband. They weren’t married in the traditional sense, but now that they’d been together for a number of years, they were practically common law husband and wife. At least they would’ve been, if the old rules and standards still applied. They were all being rewritten with great haste.

It wasn’t always this way. Not so long ago, Michael had a standard nine to five job and a girlfriend that seemed happy enough to play homemaker while working a part time on the side. He and Claudia were thinking about starting a family when the world started to transform. Neither of them were prepared for the tidal wave of female domination.

After Michael lost his job, he couldn’t find another one. Not a good position that would pay the bills and provide good benefits like he used to have. Those jobs began to blip out of existence for men and never came back. Claudia supported him at first. She worked more while her boyfriend got his first taste of domestic chores and cooking. They were both ill equipped for the sudden change and hated it at first. Their relationship didn’t survive.

It wasn’t long after when Michael met Janet. A confident, attractive, auburn-haired Amazon who was ten years his senior. She seemed eminently more prepared for the new world. You could say it fit her like a latex glove. After a few drinks at a local bar, Michael fell under her spell. Despite her stern nature, she had a warm, understanding side. She’d listened to his troubles, nodded along, soothed his anxieties and before long, was outlining exactly what Michael needed. A strong woman to help lead him into the new paradigm. A woman like her.

Michael smiled as he walked down the hallway with her clothes over his shoulder. The memory of their meeting carved a smile on his soft lips. He turned into their bedroom, opened the large sliding closet door and began hanging her things up neatly. The smells of leather and rubber assaulted him as he filed the garments away. Fetish attire made up almost half of their wardrobe.

The task done, the still-young man turned to look at the full length mirror by their bed. There he was, his best self, thanks to Mistress Janet. Only the thick leather collar around his neck and his cock cage adorned his otherwise nude form. Upon claiming him, Janet had mandated a cleanup of his diet and regular exercise. Michael had lost thirty pounds since then and was back to his trim, college form. He ran a hand through his short, brown hair as he prepared to report his progress to Mistress.

“Michael!” a voice came from downstairs, as if reading his mind.

He grinned, hurried from the room and headed downstairs to attend to his Goddess.

Mike entered the living room and found his one and only where he’d left her. Janet was sprawled out on the sofa, reading. She lowered her book and looked up as he entered.

“It’s almost lunch time. I’ll have a BLT and a lime squash. Make something for yourself too.”

“Of course, Mistress” he said with a slight bow.

“Is the ironing done?”

“Yes, I just finished.”

“Good, then you’re almost done with your chores. How does a nice, long afternoon pegging sound?”

“That sounds wonderful, my Queen.”

“But we can’t do that today, can we?”

“No, Mistress.”

“And why not?”

“Because tomorrow is the Strapon Tournament.”

“That’s right, and I need you at your most potent. How many days has it been since I let you come?”

“Three, Mistress.”

“Perfect. I need the rest as well, or my poor hips won’t hold up tomorrow.”

“Of course, my love.”

“I think, instead, you can provide me some afternoon delight with that slutty tongue of yours” she announced with a wicked smile.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Mmmhmm ... Now go make lunch.” She shooed him off with a wave.

“Right away, Mistress.” He bowed again and turned toward the kitchen.

Janet lifted her book and resumed reading, but within a split second, she balked. “Wait! Michael...”

“Yes, my dear?” he asked, turning to her again.

“Are you cold?” Her brow furrowed. “You look cold.” She couldn’t help but notice his shriveled cock and the goosebumps on his skin.

“It does feel a little cool in here, yes.”

“You’re going to be nude tomorrow at the event. You should stay warm until then just to be on the safe side. I don’t want you coming down with something just before we enter the spotlight. Put on one of your bodysuits before you make lunch. That should keep you plenty warm.”

He chuckled, knowing what an understatement that was. He sweat like hell in those second skins of latex rubber. “Do you have a preference Mistress? A certain color?”

“Choose whichever you like, as long as it’s clean and shiny.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He bowed a third time and retreated back to the stairs, ascending them quickly.

“And hurry!” she called after him. “I’m getting hungry!”

Michael felt cool metal flat against his torso and upper thighs. His wrists and ankles were shackled tightly to the sides of the contestant podium. The taste of rubber was strong on his tongue; a fresh ball-gag secured in his mouth from the leather harness wrapped around his head. Aside from his collar, he was nude, his flaccid cock hanging below. All around him, the audience was comprised of thousands of boisterous women. They filled the stands, many sitting near their bound slaves and chatting with their friends as they waited for the show to begin.

The arena once hosted many different kinds of events. Now it was primarily used for women’s athletics and fetish spectacles like this one. This was the third year Janet and Michael had entered the Strapon Tournament, but the first year they’d advanced to the second round. Winning your local competition moved you up to All-City. Beyond that was All-State, the Regionals and the Nationals, if one dared to dream.

With each advancement in the ranks, the strapons got bigger and the competition grew much more stiff. There was nary a woman alive who didn’t want the title of Strapon Queen for the year to come. Contests in female domination and fetish style had supplanted the beauty pageants and fashion shows of old. No competition was more celebrated than the Strapon Tournament and aside from the lucrative prizes and endorsement deals that would be showered on the champion, most women wanted the prestige.

Mike could hear Mistress Janet chatting with some of her competitors behind him. Despite the grandeur of the event and the high stakes, their rivalry was a friendly one. They spoke amicably and laughed as they adjusted their harnesses and stretched their limbs, preparing for lengthy, but pleasurable, exertion.

Michael glanced from side to side and observed his surroundings as the final minutes ticked down. There was a camera crew and an announcer not far ahead, making their final preparations. To his left, at podiums two through six, were his five contemporaries. The other men, who seemed to range in age from twenty five to forty five, were likewise bound to the daises with leather harnesses wrapped around their faces and gags fixed in their mouths.

“Alright ladies, we’re live in two minutes! Take your places!” The announcer was a pretty brunette of medium height wearing a stylish suit coat. Her name tag identified her as a reporter for one of the local news stations.

The women all stepped up behind their slaves, their strapons pointed directly at six exposed, waiting puckers. Each Domina was clad in white satin tops, white leather gloves, a white strapon harness and, of course, their girthy weapons. These items were provided to the contestants to make sure the endowments were standardized and no equipment would give the contestants an advantage over the others.

The white colors not only made the Dommes stand out before the sea of black leather and latex in the audience, but also evoked the newfound tradition of the collaring ceremony that had replaced traditional matrimony. Now, a woman deflowered her man after collaring him and claiming him as her property. Not that deflowering was typically an accurate term. Men being taken on their special night were no more likely to be strapon virgins than women were to be chaste back in the day.

“Your lube dispensers are on the left side of each podium” the announcer spoke up again. “Use them as much as you like. You should do your first application now, before the broadcast begins.”

Michael felt the cold metal tip of the injector plunge into his starfish and streams of cool, viscous gel spat into his ass. It was already cold enough, being naked in the arena and strapped to a metal bondage apparatus. The lube chilled him even further and a shiver ran up his spine. He knew it wouldn’t last, though. Things would be heating up very soon.