She had known her police forces to be effective, but the catch was outstanding. Termatir smiled with satisfaction when one of the three men, whom her guards had arrested near the bombing site on Eykland, was brought into the room. He was over six feet tall, muscled like a wrestler, had a brown beard and short brown hair, matted with dirt and sweat. His face, usually handsome to look at, bore signs of a severe fight. Blood had dripped on his ragged shirt and light brown pants. His hands were bound on his back, his walk slurred by heavy chains around his ankles. However, his eyes were lively and the expression belligerent. He was beaten, but not cowed.

Termatir watched as the prisoner was collared and the chain fastened at a strong post in the center of the room. The guards turned to her, bowed curtly, and left to close the door. Termatir took a deep breath. “You came far, but as you see, not far enough to escape me.”
The man spat a mix of blood and spittle on the light grey floor.

Termatir smirked. “I had not expected manners from a man. Still you should try to think about your position. I suppose you’re an impoty at least?” She did not wait for him to answer. His whole behavior indicated that she dealt with a real man, capable of having sex. “Your capture bears the risk of losing your manliness.”

“You cannot threaten me!”

“Don’t be mistaken.” Termatir poured a glass of clear juice and drank while she watched the man’s vain attempt to change his position. The chain was too short and he choked on the broad collar that covered most of his throat. “You know who I am and what I am capable of. I guess, that piece of information reached even you in your mud hole somewhere in the wild.”
His dark brown eyes shot daggers at her. “If you kill me another will take my position.”

“Yes, certainly. I don’t mind letting you live, but there has to be some understanding that you’re in no position to make demands.”

“What do you want?” The impoty rattled the chain again. The beating had been bad. He was bruised and hurt all over. The guards had vented their cumulated fury on him while most of his fellows had gotten away. Only two had fallen into the hands of the Meshoy clan. He did not know if they lived. He mourned their capture. They had been strong and capable, but it was not the time to break down and pity those brave comrades. He had to take care of his own destiny, still wondering why it had been possible to catch him. His fellow friends and he had been on a safe route and almost out of danger. Right now, he was in danger to lose his testicles. He didn’t doubt Termatir’s will to carry out the procedure herself. “Come on, you got me, and I can’t run away. Now tell me!”

***

Termatir put down the glass and came closer slowly as if to keep him on tenterhooks for a while longer. “Eager, hum? You don’t expect me to let you go just like this.” She snapped her fingers. “But still you expect to leave this complex alive. Right?” She waited patiently for him to nod. “Good. Two points in a row. But the restrictions will not be as easily guessed.” She ran a finger over his bearded cheek, not bothering the crusted blood or that he flinched at her touch. The finger continued traveling down his chest. “I have a set of rules for you that you either obey or end up as a no-male in one of the prison camps in the desert. Do you think your mashed brain finds the better option without further hints?”

The man swallowed and squinted at Termatir’s lovely, but hard face. He knew he had no choice and still he hesitated until the woman’s glare made him answer. “Just tell me.”
“We make a deal. From my side it’s that I let you and your lousy fellows live. From your side, it’s obedience.” She waited for his reaction.

***

The man bristled at the idea to obey a woman. He had fought against the solitary leadership of women for years. At the end of the war, he had been a child. In the wake of the change and the founding of the female dominated clans, he had learned much about women. His father had suffered under the strict rules and finally despaired, arguing that no woman alone must stand at the top of any regime. He had declared women to be solely controlled by moods and never by reason. Watching his father lose, he had sworn that he would never end like that. In fact, the young man had made his way as a semency first, one of the few potent men Raskayen had ever possessed. His attitude – his loud spoken mind and call for open rebellion – had ruined his career and had catapulted him out of the clan in spite of his qualities. Though shocked at first, he had found his destiny in leading men and even some women of the same opinion that leadership should be open for all qualified people. He had been victorious in some ways. The attack on the Eykland facilities had just been the latest and most daring coup. When he faced the leader of the Meshoy clan, he loathed to be on the losing side.

“Obedience to what? Why? For the sake of my ass, tell me what you want!” He pulled the chain tight once more. He choked as the collar bit into his throat, pressing back his Adam’s apple. It was all too frustrating to stand still.

“You’re quite proud and agitated. I don’t like that. Men are just good for fighting, not for thinking. So I will try to make it easy. You will carry out my orders, and I, the leader of the mightiest clan, will provide you with supplies to let your poor scum survive a little longer.”

He coughed badly. “You’re telling me that I must carry out orders? What kind of orders?”

“That doesn’t concern you now. You’ll be under my command and I will tell you the times and places. You will take every means to fulfill the order. Is that clear enough for your bird brain?”

“I’ve no word in what the rebels do! I’m just one of their footmen. I’m not – ”

She slapped his face. “Shut up, rebel! I know you’re not just some piece of dirt like the rest, so don’t insult me with pretences! I could quench your little rebellion within a day! One order from me and you’re done for! All of you! The bombing of my island wasn’t the smartest idea you folks had! This is way above your head, rebel scum! You deserve punishment!”

“You would rule yourself out if you killed me! Too many of your people have seen me brought in!”

“Don’t even think you’re safe!” She slapped him again. The man flinched, but still kept her stare. “I rule this clan. And you have no choice but to follow.”

His answer was a deep growl. “Don’t count on it.”

Termatir stepped back and took a deep breath. She eyed the man with mocked astonishment and cocked her head. “Truly, you’re stupider than I thought a man could be. But that can be helped.” Upon the ringing of a bell, two women entered. “Strip him and bind him to the frame.”

The guards’ faces lit up as they pulled knives out of the sheaths and cut away pants and shirt with an eagerness the man found quite disturbing.

“You have no right to do this!”

The rest of his rambling and shouting was commented with grinning ignorance as shred by shred his clothes came off. One woman even pinched his scrotum and giggled like a girl.
Finally, the man stood naked and chained to a large frame, his legs and arms stretched to their limits that the sinews stood out. He grimaced with pain, but pressed his lips tight. He did not wish her to see his torment.

***

Termatir turned when the door opened and a woman of about thirty years entered. She glanced at the captive, but concentrated on the leader. “You wished to see me?”

Termatir eyed the round face with the intelligent green eyes and a body that was used to hard work and even fighting. “You left your position, Piara. Tell me why.”

Again, the woman glanced at the prisoner and knew he had recognized her. Quickly, she focused on Termatir. “I had to raise the alarm at the facility. The bomb would have killed about twenty women and some workers. I did not wish to risk that. After all …” She hesitated, but saw her leader’s approval. “After all, I brought you them.” She pointed with her chin toward the bound man. “This is Borayn.”

“Yes, I thought so.” Termatir placed a hand on Piara’s shoulder. “Well done. Now take a rest.” The woman bowed curtly and left.

The leader turned back to Borayn, satisfied that he realized to have had a mole within his rebel group for several months. She arranged the tools she needed on a small table, knowing that he had no choice other than surrender. “I’m not really surprised by your defiance, Borayn. Idiotic behavior is something dictated by testosterone and no man can escape its influence.” She pressed the needle of a syringe against his scrotum to take a sample of his semen, which she handed to one of the guards. “I want this checked immediately. Report back to me.”

“I’m a semency,” the man confessed with the same defiance he had shown before. Termatir lifted her brows.

“Yeah, right, you wonder why I’m with the free men when I could have a life in a brothel with women every day.”

“Indeed, yes, that thought crossed my mind.”

“It’s nothing but a prison! And all men are prisoners to your will! Slaves who are made believe that they do something for society! Nothing but lies to keep them quiet!”

“Spare me the rousing speech, man. You’re wasting your breath. Most of the semencies we keep are very happy with their lives. After all, the alternatives aren’t as pretty, are they?”

The man but snorted.

Termatir smiled and cocked her head. “You’re in the position I want you in. Now, tell me, do we have a deal?”

“Don’t you understand that not every man is under your command? You can kill me if you want to, but you can’t make me your lap dog.”

Termatir sighed. “Good, as you wish. The discussion ends here. Gag him.” She waited until the women were gone. “Do you know Burmioum? It’s the strongest and sturdiest material found on our planet.” She held up a small, half-open ring with a pair of pincers. “Very lasting. When worked on for the first time, it’s flexible at about a hundred degrees. Once brought into its form, the material endures heating beyond a thousand degrees. That’s what makes it so valuable for the processing of luk. This ring here is made of rough material as the rest of what you see on the table.” She took a sterilized needle to pierce his nipple and pushed through the ring. The man bit on the gag as the pain hit him. Termatir closed the ring and sealed it with a hot stick. The seam welding almost disappeared. “It is a nice decoration, man, but serves for far more purposes.” She locked eyes with him, telling him what was on her mind without words. The man swallowed and moaned. Termatir knew he understood.

***

If Mysan had slept, she couldn’t remember it. She had not wished to sleep, but to relive the hours with Ferris over and over again. Her first duty in the morning should have been to check the data on her newly arrived semencies, but instead she checked on Ferris’s wellbeing. He was enjoying the orchard already. So she called Jelan Trell to beg for another night with Ferris.

“You know that the specimen shall get a day’s rest at least after a copulating night.”

“I know, Jelan, but he agreed.”

Jelan Trell laughed. How often have I heard that sentence? But she was fond of Mysan’s character and work and nodded. “Another night, very well. But, Mysan, that will be it. He needs rest then. And he shall remain open-minded for other women to bed.”

“Of course. Thank you, chief.” Mysan sent a prayer of gratitude to the Goddess of Wysk and went into the shower. She had work to do and a night to look forward to.

***

“Does the idea strike you that you had had a choice before?” Termatir stepped back to admire her work. “Or are you fond of being treated like that?”

The man hung his head, breathing shallowly. Termatir had pierced his nipples, which had hurt him. But it was cream compared to the pain the ring above his length caused. The clan leader had ordered his pubic hair smoothly shaven and he had fearfully anticipated Termatir’s next move. However, his fears were nothing compared to the nauseating reality. He blinked away tears as he looked down at himself. He wondered about its meaning.

“I think you do like it. Your fellows might have treated you like that. Tell me, man, how do the impoties and no-males in your group live with someone like you? Or don’t they know of your potential? Do they know that you could live an easy life on a stud farm that they would never have?” She stroked his chin. The man, bathed in sweat now, also stank. She smiled when she realized how much she liked that stench combined with her being the cause of his fear and pain. It was a strange aphrodisiac. “I guess, by now you found out what this ring is for, didn’t you?” She lifted his chin, but he broke the grip. “Yes, you know.” She took a silver shining cage of prepared Burmioum from the table and fitted it tight around his flaccid penis.

The upper end connected with the ring by a small, sturdy lock while the lower end was bent inward to close around the foreskin. “This can only be opened by me, man,” Termatir’s voice held the friendliness of an attacking beast, “which means that your cock is confined till eternity if you try to rule against me. I hope you don’t have a girlfriend. She’ll be quite disappointed from now on.” She looked into his eyes filled with pain. “Yes, try another round of defiance, but I think it will finally come up to this. I command and you obey. Right?” She rose. “You might consider trying to open the cage, but you’d die before you manage. I made sure of that. Not to forget that I’d smash your fellows like some nasty insects.” Termatir groped on the back of his head to open the clasp of the gag and took it out. “Do we have a deal?”

The man coughed and wet his parched lips. He wanted to break the chains, strangulate Termatir slowly, and make her feel life leaving her. He wanted to growl, destroying everything dear to her. Instead, he was bound painfully tight that he thought his sinews to snap any moment and his loins to give in to the constant reminding of Termatir’s doings.

“Deal.” He hung his head. He was nauseous and hurt all over.

Termatir lifted her brows. “That was almost too easy.”

***

The chief of the small Gilanee clan would not have called herself a mole, but rather a woman in need of a mating partner. She had picked the right day, but the rebels had caused a lot of unrest among the clans. She knew upon her arrival that she would have to bet on her luck and abilities to be allowed to enter the brothel at all. The guard at the entrance checked her bracelet twice, ran her data through the program and only when she was satisfied she turned back to Dasha with a severe expression on her face. “If you see something out of the ordinary, report to the guards immediately. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, of course.” Dasha’s heart beat loud enough to make her think of it pounding outside her ribcage. She saw guards almost everywhere. The armada of amber-clad women with hard faces and strong bodies had multiplied from her last visit. Though the control had found nothing wrong with her bracelet, she felt uneasy. Only in the mating room would she cast aside her worries. She looked forward to meeting with the blue-eyed Taranjy again. He was wonderful, caring, charming even.

Dasha’s smile died when she saw that Taranjy Feles was not on the list of specimens on duty that night. She pouted a moment, but walked on, trying to make up her mind what type of guy she wanted. It was impossible to find another man like Taranjy, but she had no time to be picky. She smoothed her skirt and opened the top button of her blouse. In the brothel, wealth was of no importance. A woman counted for her ability to become pregnant, so Dasha took a deep breath and gazed up the row of small cells. She found it irritating to have them kept apart from the women, but knew that, in former times, there had been quarrels between the men and sometimes even between the women over the most valuable specimen. Sometimes the quarrels had ended with injuries instead of love nights. Jelan Trell had simplified the time of choosing a bed partner by separating the groups. The women were alone on the long, carefully decorated corridor with its candles and torchlight, its small couches and niches. They could sit down to relax before they made their choice.

Dasha, bereft of a better idea, checked the fact sheets on the men in the cells, and one number caught her attention and made her weak in the knees—seventy percent fertility at least! She lowered her gaze to the inmate of number 57 and swallowed her anticipation. The tall and slender guy with the brown-green eyes and the handsome face seemed already spoken to. A black-haired woman, her face blushed with excitement, just called for the guard to place reservations on room 356 and told him with the touch of his hand where he had to go to. Dasha pouted again. Seventy percent made him a very valuable specimen, a perfect addition for her clan.