EXTRACT FOR
Femdom Future
(Miranda Birch)

Carla Davis woke with a rather nasty hangover. Alongside her, Susan was still asleep. She was snoring gently. They had both rather overdone the booze the previous evening, having made up after a row. The row was now forgiven and forgotten, but the over-indulgence in drink was clearly not. Carla's mouth was dry, and her head throbbed. She stretched out an arm and pressed a bell-push on the bedside table. In a matter of moments, one of the four household slaves had entered the bedroom, bowing low, then simply standing attentively in silence, waiting to serve. He was nude, of course, as all slaves always were. Well, 'trainees' they were still, technically; but the staff all thought of them, and treated them as, slaves. 



"Black coffee," said Carla, "And be quick about it." 



"Yes, Miss..." The slave, -- whose number, tattooed 'fore and aft' (that is, on forehead and left bum- cheek) was 3231 -- bowed again and hurried from the room. 



What, Carla wondered, had women done before the new government of Tessa March had fixed things? It was really impossible to imagine it. Good God! She would have had to make her coffee herself, for s start -- and probably for some man as well, into the bargain. After that she would have to cook his meals, do housework, ... It didn't bear thinking about! It must have been an intolerable existence, she thought, before women had taken complete control and put men into utter subservience. She had been too young to know much of the earlier life. This was her first job, the position at the Retraining Centre, and she had never as an adult known anything different to the way she lived now. She said a little prayer of thanks to the women who had had the foresight and determination to put males into their proper place. 



The slave returned with a jug of coffee and two cups on a tray, which he placed on the bedside table. He bowed and waited for a moment, to see if he was required for anything else. 



"Get out," said Carla. 



Another bow and the slave turned and left. 



"Come back," called Carla as the slave reached the door. 



The slave scuttled back nervously. 



"Pour me a out a cup, you dolt!" snarled Carla. 



Her hangover made her even crosser than normal, and the slave trembled with apprehension. He knew these moods of hers only too well. 



"Yes, Miss... at once, Miss..." 



Carla took the cup in silence. 



"Now get out," she ordered. "Yes, Miss." 



The slave hurried away. As always, he was glad to be out of the immediate presence of his Mistress. 



Carla yawned. She did not at all fancy getting up, getting dressed, and heading across to the Retraining Centre, where she was an Assistant Chief Instructress. That was no mean achievement for a young woman of 21. She would rather have stayed in bed with Susan. But Carla was a stickler for both discipline and duty. She could not let the rest of the team of instructors down. 



Susan woke up then, and uttered a long, low groan of distress. 



"Oh Christ! My head," she said. "It was that bloody brandy. We must have had a bottle between us." 



"That's right, darling," said Carla. "And you'd have had more if I hadn't stopped you." 



Susan pressed the bell push at her side of the bed and the same slave who had attended Carla came hurrying back in. He was very nervous, realising that both women had hangovers. He knew how unpleasant they could be in that condition. 



"Get me an ice pack," ordered Susan. 



"Yes, Miss..."