Women rule us now, there was a time, a prehistoric time called the 1950s when men had power and life was good. A time when men were allowed to walk on two legs and didn't have to wear shock collars. Now I'm tethered to my goddess's bedroom. She stands 14 feet tall, average height for women now. She's 28 years old, and by the same she turns 50, she could be close to 20 feet tall. Her eyes are large, like a giant squid's eyes, she wears violet tinted glasses and wears a long glowing blue and purple robe, her hair is long and dull black, and her teeth resemble those of a shark. She hold a small box in her hand with a heart-shaped button that, when pressed, sends a jolt of energy through my collar. I know what that means. I crawl over to her and she grabs the back of my head. That same fishy scent and taste, several times a day. Men are bred for women's pleasure, and that's it.
Men became slaves when female scientists perfected the creation process for artificial sperm. Men were no longer necessary for reproduction, but instead of getting rid of us, they repurposed us. Repurposed is just a fancy world for domesticated. We're treated brutally, we're emaciated, little more than skeletons with a thin layer of skin covering. This directly contrast the looks of goddesses, who are dressed in expensive glowing silk garments, high tech eye-wear, and emanating flowery perfumes that does little to mask their strong feminine odor.
To express our gratitude to our goddesses, for allowing us to live even though we're obsolete, we're expected to grovel, and kiss the feet and posteriors of our goddesses. I once spent several hours with my head engulfed in my goddess's gigantic buttocks, my lip muscles aching from all the kissing and all the obsequious sweet nothings like "Thank you, goddess" and "I love you, goddess". She had my hands removed, and replaced them with what can only be described as seal flippers, writing this letter with great difficultly, perhaps she'll remove my sense of vision so I can't see the letter, or perhaps my sense of direction so the pen will fly all over the paper. They have total control over us, it's a living nightmare, but one we're use to, as we have never known freedom. Just one woman of the future is smarter than the combined intellect of every man living in your time. The laws of the universe do not apply to them, for they are the universe. Calling them "goddess" is not just a respectful term we slaves are forced to address them by, it's what they are, they've evolved into celestial beings, and likewise, we've evolved into their pets, and we will forever be degraded for their amusement, and when we die we will forever serve them as slaves in the afterlife, forever.
Our goddesses have total manipulation of our emotions, using another control box (like the ones they use for our shock collars) that controls are mood. If they want to make us sad, they set it to blue, pink for happy, grey for fear, purple for sensual. This control box is used for particularly cruel effect. Goddesses will set it to purple to make their slaves make out with each other. My goddess owned another slave a long time ago, one who I was very good friends with, we were friends with a strong camaraderie, and one day my goddess grinded on his face until he suffocated, and she made me watched, with the mood box on pink. So I was forced to smile while I watched him pass away, even though part of me was screaming "NO!" and wanting to help him. I then had to lick her feet with the box set to grey, making me utterly terrified of her feet, like someone with arachnophobia having to lick a tarantula.
