Brides in the Nation of Men (Part 1)

It is a traditional ceremony. And a small, intimate one. There are perhaps ten men in attendance, and most have only brought one or two women with them, if any.

I stand next to the podium, and wait for the soft music to begin.

As though creating the music by their very movements, first enter the four bridesmaids. Smiling softly to their left and right, walking down the aisle step by step. Their beauty is on display, the beauty both of their bodies and their character. It takes discipline to serve as a bridesmaid. True pride in your family and yourself. The low cut of their satin tops, the low rise of their sequined skirts, make abundantly clear the wealth of physical beauty we find ourselves living in these days. And the steady rhythm of their soft steps on bare feet is testimony to the spiritual beauty we have cultivated as well

Each beautiful girl blushes as she approaches and makes eye contact with me. But they continue on their route. If the fourth and last one seems momentarily, imperceptibly, to hesitate, to look like she may be about to break protocol severely and say something out loud at this point, no one notices but me. She smiles nervously at me as she passes by.

The four girls approach the pastor, who holds the Ark of God’s Will in his hands. Inside the ark are four of the church’s sacred coins. They are old, so old it has been centuries since anyone could have said how old they actually are. Three of the coins have the symbol of the bird imprinted on them. The symbol of flight and freedom.

One of the coins has the symbol of the circle. The symbol of faith and return.

The pastor silently holds the box out to the girls. All breathing in the room stops. He opens the lid of the Ark, and the first bridesmaid reaches in, adopting a forthright attitude, showing by example what this moment calls for. She pulls out a coin, keeps her hand grasped tightly closed, and withdraws it from the box. The second, third and fourth girl are relieved to have this example before them, and imitate her forthright movements without fail. Now each girl holds in her hand a coin. The pastor intones, “You may reveal God’s will now.”

The girls each turn their coin up at the same time. None of us can see the result, only the girls can. The four of them release audible sighs, and three of them look at the fourth—the last, the one who had seemed to barely hesitate before. They are smiling, and reaching forward to embrace her. She smiles back, but her smile is shaky. They all hold her in an embrace, whispering happy words into her ears, then each takes a turn embracing her alone, passionately kissing her on the mouth as they do so.

And then, they lead her up the steps onto the church’s small stage area, near where the organist is playing, and gently guide her to her shackles. A small pole stands up in front of the organ, and through a small ring on that pole is threaded a chain holding two cuffs. In order to place her hands within these restraints behind her back, she must sit on the ground. But in sitting, she must kneel, because her ankles, too, go into another set of shackles that can be found at the bottom of the pole. The three girls gently lock her into place, while she stares straight ahead. They gently caress and kiss her cheeks and forehead while they secure her into her place. One of them is shedding tears, but these are tears of happiness.

I can see that the chained bridesmaid is starting to shiver. This is surely embarrassing to her parents and her brother who are in attendance. It is embarrassing, but understandable. It’s a big moment for the girl.

As the three other bridesmaids take their places on the other side of the podium from me, the music reaches a crescendo, and in comes a bride. Felice.

She was the first girl in her family that I met. I walked up to her at a small gathering of friends and announced loudly that I would like to fuck her. She was sitting on a chair against the wall at the time, along with all the other women watching the gathering, as is usual. What was unusual was that she rolled her eyes at me as she looked up at my form, which I imagined was looming. Then she grinned, but I knew, and I knew she knew I knew, that the eye roll was real. She was annoyed at my demand.

I can’t pretend annoyance is an uncommon feeling among women when we make demands of them, but showing it is another thing altogether. And you would think I might be angry at this but to be clear, I was not at all. I was intrigued. I had high hopes in that moment, that I had found a strong woman.

She stood up and led me into one of the backrooms and we had our first fucking. There was to tell the truth nothing special about it. She was extremely beautiful, as all women are, and she knew it, as all women do, and she opened herself to me, and let me put my dick inside her and release my sperm into her. She gazed intently at my face throughout the process, smiling vacantly.

She looked amused. And bored. Amazing. Women act happy and overjoyed during sex, that is just What Is Done. She was either the worst actor in the world—or the most truthful woman I had ever met.

The most truthful woman in the world was now approaching me at the podium. She smiled at me, her wry accepting smile, as I took both her hand and kissed it. She then turned to her right, and walked over to the pastor. He intoned the Blessing, then gestured to the stage, which she promptly ascended to. The three bridesmaids were there waiting for her. One of them was her best friend Kandra, and they embraced happily and briefly kissed. Felice then walked over to the wall which would be her place for the rest of the ceremony. She raised her bouquet up to Kandra, who took it from her. This freed Felice’s hands to stretch upwards towards the shackles recessed into the wall above her. The other two bridesmaids, climbing on small stepstools, reached up to her wrists, placed them in the shackles, and locked them.

Felice had never had any interest in any sort of restraints during our courtship, despite my frequent mentions and requests. I respected her desires because I respected her strength. To see her now, though, stretched tight, her long torso exposed, her breasts beneath her top raised upwards to an impossible height by her bound position – this was more than I could have hoped for.

The next bride now enters. Prsepa.

The first time I was invited to Felice’s family home, her sister Prsepa made no bones about wanting me to marry into this family practically immediately. She waited on me hand and foot as I socialized with their father, Felice sitting next to him allowing him to casually rub her leg as we talked.

Having brought snacks and drinks to both of us Prsepa now knelt in front of me, simply waiting. A perfect picture of patience and obedience. She had not done much for me yet, but something in her demeanor told me that she would willingly and ably serve in any way I pleased should I wish to speak to her.

Felice and her father saw me staring down at Prsepa’s tits – she was properly dressed which meant I could see the tops of the things from this angle very well, and the general shape of them through her tightly fitted clothing. She didn’t see me as she was staring properly at my feet, but her sister and father both winked at me and chuckled when I realized I had been staring at her and not paying attention to them.

I spent the night with Prsepa in her room that night, while Felice entertained her father in his bed. I learned that she was, as I had been sure, utterly eager to please. This was the source of her pleasure. She was inexperienced compared to Felice but had no inclination to say no, to anything at all. I gave her her first ass fucking that night. When I asked her if it hurt, she said yes, and from her face it was clear that there was no physical pleasure mixed with that pain. I then said, “You wish I would stop then?” and she immediately moaned and cried, “No, please don’t stop!” And so I continued to hurt her. And she continued to love me for it.

As I continued over the months to court this family, I learned Prsepa was just as eager to serve the Society as she was eager to please me that night. She could not wait to take her place, if it was her fate, as a wife, and bear children and love them and teach them in the ways of truth, and hopefully, if she was blessed, eventually bear a Male. To have been a mother to a son was her dearest wish, deep in her soul.

She is smiling sweetly at me now, and I smile back at her, her auburn hair, her light freckles, her bosom. Admiring her figure and her faith, I take her hand and kiss it just as I did Felice, and she then turns, receives the Blessing, and is guided by the bridesmaids to the wall to take her place next to her sister. She gives her bouquet to the bridesmaid who was her friend, and the other two secured her upstretched arms to the wall. Felice and Prsepa gaze at each other, smiling, with, I am sure, joy and anticipation. Their father’s line will continue through this wedding. One of their most important duties as young women is being fulfilled as we speak.

Now their sister Iuoa enters. Her square jaw, dark tan skin and her personality – if she could have chosen, she would have been a man, let’s just say it – all conspired to make it impossible for her to ever look quite right in a bridal dress. But she grins widely at me as she begins her traversal down the aisle, and I grin widely and genuinely back. I love Iuoa. How could I not?

She was not there when Felice took me to her family home that first time. But I met Iuoa finally on my second visit. She answered the door when I knocked, covered in paint. “You’re Felice’s friend?” she grinned and I said yes, I was, and reached out to shake her hand. She took my hand in hers and gave a firm shake—and transferred a mess of paint over at the same time. She gasped and blushed and apologized and ushered me in to the washroom. We passed by Felice, and I gave a lopsided grin and wave as we did so. Felice laughed back and yelled “Iuoa! Again?”

In the washroom I began rinsing my hand off but the paint had already started to dry, and I was fiddling around with my fingernails scratching bits off. Iuoa, standing next to me, took my hand in hers and said, “It’ll go faster if you just rub it, not scratch at it, like this,” and under the stream of water she rubbed my hand gently. And she was right, this removed the paint. She absently continued rubbing my hand while staring up at me, then quickly caught herself and withdrew a step, wiping her hands on her jeans to dry them. She was inadvertently in my way, blocking the door. She was too busy staring at the bulge that had developed in my pants while she had rubbed my hand and had the temerity to breathe in a particularly attractive way while I was listening.

“May I?” I said, gesturing to the door, not bothering to hide the erection. Why be ashamed of it, especially in front of a woman?

“Uhhhh” she said. Dumbly but very cutely. “Yeah. Of course!” She gave a quick little chuckle and stepped out of the way.

I considered unzipping, giving her a view, right there. But instead I just said as I walked past her, “Patience, you know you’ll be seeing it tonight.” She blushed deeply, and nodded.

After dinner and conversation, I retired to Iuoa’s room that night having kissed Felice and Prsepa goodnight. In Iuoa’s room was an explanation for the paint on her hand earlier. Lest you think she was out painting a barn or something, no, she had been working on a delicate little oil painting. A simple portrait, no one I recognized, but the man on the canvas was compelling. I have no attraction to men, not sexual attraction, but somehow he held my gaze while Iuoa frantically cleaned up around him in a silly gesture towards decorum. I stopped her by grabbing her by the waist and turning her towards me, allowing my crotch to come into contact with her. “Did you paint him?” I asked.

“She nodded.”

“What does he mean to you?” I asked.

She looked stunned at this question, as though she had never thought anyone might ask such a thing. Which is silly, because it’s obviously the first thing any thinking man would ask. I kissed her stunned face and expected a soft acquiescence but instead got an aggressive, pleasingly sensitive response, her tongue not “exploring” mine but finding my tongue’s angles, its shapes, its sensitivities. We stopped after half a minute or so.

She never did answer my question, as shortly after this kiss her tongue was giving my cock the same treatment it had just given my mouth.

Felice and all of her sisters are an absolute pleasure in bed. But only Iuoa brought forth sounds from me that I didn’t intend to make. Her artist’s hands expertly painted pleasure on me, and somehow her artist’s body taught me by it’s movements exactly how to return the favor. Well, perhaps if she was artfully painting my pleasure, I was more clumsily pouring or splashing it back towards her in turn. But prior to that night, I had hardly thought at all about whether I was “good in bed” or not. By being so incredibly free with her sensitivity and empathetic skill at finding exactly my buttons, she made me aspire to be able to do the same, to her, and anyone else I might encounter.

Amazing.

And here she is in front of me, in all her petite awkward mismatched glory, her hand in mine as I kiss it and she smiles nervously as she turns to her right and goes over to the wall to be chained there with her sisters Prsepa and Felice.

The kneeling girl in front of the organ suddenly sobs at this point, loudly. Her father angrily shushes her from his seat in the audience, and her sniffles become silent.

At the entrance to the room now stands the fourth and final sister. Dienna. She looks up at the stage, at her restrained sisters, and then at the kneeling girl in front of them. This girl is Dienna’s friend, and Dienna’s face is hard to read as she takes in the small quiet sniffles coming from the girl. As always, Dienna maintains control. Dienna thinks things through.

With almost more purposefulness than is appropriate for the occasion, she walks, forcing it to be a slow walk, up to me at the podium.

She casts polite smiles to her left and her right but I know her well enough to know that she is having a hard time being happy right now.

I met her first the same day I met Iuoa. We met at the family dinner table. She was very serious, and rarely made eye contact, seeming to contemplate the bread in front of her instead. Her father expressed an opinion about the inevitability of war with the Western nations within ten years, and at this she seemed to perk up. But angrily. She cited some ancient thinker I have never even heard of and argued against her father. Argued against her own father! That nothing is inevitable.

And they were off to the races while Felice, Iuoa and I simply watched in bemusement. It was like a sport. I am sure both Dienna and her father believed in what they were saying, but they were also very clearly simply trying to win. And her father was enjoying himself! Immensely!

What a family!

I got to speak with her more very late that night, after Iuoa and I had fucked a few times and Iuoa was soundly sleeping. I snuck into the kitchen to see if anything was left over from dinner, and she was there, at the counter, reading a book. I asked what she was reading and she told me, simply, politely, without looking up, that it was a book on ethics by a woman who wrote centuries and centuries ago, in the early second millennium!

I had to ask. Yes, a question like this is dangerous to ask in almost any context (not the question itself, but the combination of what the question was, and the sex of the person I was asking).

“Dienna, forgive me, but I have been looking for an opportunity to get to know you more as part of our courtship – that between me and your sisters and you. May I ask you a rather impertinent question?”

The idea of an impertinent question seemed to make her the most interested in me that she had ever been.

“What do you think of the place women hold in our society?” There. I left it open. But I was immensely curious how she would respond.

“Well!” she said, surprisingly inarticulate. She took a deep breath. “Uh huh!” She laughed. I got a laugh out of her.

And then she went into it. Women, she said, were a plague. Literally a plague. The Disaster of the mid-second millennium occurred entirely because women existed. When the Bug evolved from some sexually transmitted disease or other and chose women to be its hosts, that was almost the doom of our species. Because what the Bug did, essentially, was destroy anything with a Y Chromosome it happened to find in the woman’s womb. And in fact it managed to destroy 99.99% of men, before they were even born. Before they were even conceived. From a world evenly divided, we became a world containing 10,000 women for every man within a few generations.

Women weren’t directly responsible for this of course. But they made themselves incubators and spreaders of the Bug by refusing to control themselves to prevent its spread. That, according to Dienna, was the first strike against women. As in, the Heavens were keeping score, and women fell short.

Strike two involved something much more intentional on the ancient women’s part. With 10,000 women for every man, it quickly became clear that women had all the power. And they wielded it. To cruel ends. Within a century or two, practically all men were slaves, held in public trust, forced to fuck in public brothels their every waking hour. While women continued to build a world of comfortable living for themselves, almost all men were either rented out to the super rich as house sex slaves, or held in small quarters in city centers as public sex slaves. And the women of those times had no compunction about this whatsoever. They claimed they themselves had been held in some kind of bondage up until the Bug, and considered the Bug a liberator! How they could believe they had been under any kind of bondage when they numbered as many as the men before, is a mystery to all historians. It seems to have been simply propaganda that took root because it supported women’s rights to fuck – and punish, toy with, humiliate, even in some cases kill – any man they wished.

That was strike two. The hubris was unbearable to the heavens. And the heavens didn’t wait for a third strike. Despite the Society of Women’s every effort, an underground resistance of both enslaved and wild uncaught men continued its work. Here where we stand, on this land, the men were miraculously victorious, catching the women unaware as they rose up all at once to kill their masters and take control. The heroes of the day were slaves to the highest executives of the Society of Women, and because of this, were able to obtain access to the keys and codes that ran the entire local area’s infrastructure. And with that infrastructure as hostage, they gained the upper hand. Of course all the women in the area attempted to flee but the men in the High Tower made a threat to the nations around us, a threat we still don’t know exactly the nature of to this day, but seemingly a threat not to unleash a weapon but simply to reveal something. This was enough. The women of the outer nations turned guns on their own fleeing sisters, corralling them and returning them to where they belonged, under the control of men.

And so I learned that in Dienna, I was dealing with quite the conservative little intellectual. “But you have never harmed a man, have you. Probably almost no woman in our nation has done so, for decades, perhaps centuries. Is it truly just, do you think, for us to continue keeping you, basically, under our foot, in perpetuity? Is it right to punish you for what some ancient dead Matriarchs did centuries ago?”

I could say I was playing devil’s advocate, but the truth is, I neither disbelieve nor believe the assumptions that lay behind that question. I honestly don’t give a shit about any of that. We are where we are now, and it serves my purpose well. But I wanted to find out who Dienna was.

“We are monsters,” she said, finally looking at me. “Most of us, if you gave us a chance, would do the same thing to men that men did to women in the divine takeover. We will never learn. We have to be controlled. We have to be kept away from power.”

I stared at her in amazement. I’d hardly ever heard a woman opine at all, much less about this. And had I wondered what a woman might say, it was certainly not this.

I grinned. I reached out, and I grabbed her hair. She shrank back, said her “ouch” and “ow,” but what could she do? Firmly grasping her hair and her arm I walked her over to the couch and crudely pushed her down, face first. As I pulled her skirt down she resisted but I then simply pulled her skirt up and swatted her as hard as I could, several times, until she submitted. I pulled down her skirt, then her underwear, while she cried quietly, and placed my dick where it belonged—at the entrance to her asshole. “Controlled like this?” I asked.

“What?”

I slapped her. “Is this how women need to be controlled?”

“I don’t fucking know, why don’t you actually fucking do the thing first and then I’ll tell you.”

I chuckled and pressed in. No lubricating oil, but we were both sweaty so with some initially painful shoves and some twitchy fucking I was able to get myself inside her ass. She squealed. I wondered if her family would come try to rescue her, politely offer me something gentler with one of the other girls, but no one came. Perhaps they simply figured this kind of treatment was the natural result of her strong will.

I spent some time fucking her ass, leaning hard on her neck while she went limp beneath me. And then I pulled out. And put my assy dick right up to her mouth. She closed her face up real quick and shrank back, but I slapped her several times until she finally opened up.

After I came in her mouth and she dribbled it out all over the floor, I made her clean it up with her tongue while I drank some water. I squatted down, grabbed her hair and pulled her back over to the counter where she had been sitting before. I placed the book in her hands. “Keep reading,” I said, and started to walk away.

“Yes sir,” she said, and immediately obeyed. “Thank you sir.”

Alright then.

She walks up to me now in her beautiful bridal gown, and I kiss her hand but she’s clearly focused on her friend, crying on her knees on the stage. I let her go, she rushes through the Blessing, walks past the bridesmaids and squats down in front of her friend. I can’t hear a lot of what she says, but it’s surprisingly gentle in tone. She takes her friend’s face in her hands and caresses it and smiles. She says something about “for your family,” and “for me,” and “thank you.” The girl quiets down, looking at the floor, and nods. “Okay,” she whispers and Dienna embraces her.

Dienna then takes the bouquet she’d been holding in her hand throughout the interaction, and places it gently in front of the girl. Just as the other three sisters had given their bouquet to their own bridesmaid, she is now to leave her own flowers with her own bridesmaid. She does this, stands up, turns around, and immediately places her back against the wall next to her three sisters and stretches her hands upwards without delay. Two of the free bridesmaids shackle her tightly to the wall, and the third now cuts Dienna’s gown off, rendering her naked.

Then she does the same to Iuoa. Then Prsepa. Then Felice. And finally, the now-quiet girl kneeling in front of the organ.

The four loves of my life stand before us all now, bound, stretched, nude, three of them smiling sweetly, one of them seeming, as always, to be thinking about future plans and higher truths.

And I am to somehow choose only one of them.