Contracted

Sitting on the monorail, looking at my reflection in the window and ignoring the city as it sped by, I told myself it would only be for three months. Three months wearing the collar, three months of almost no-holds-barred slavery. The credits would get me out of the hole I'd dug for myself, and then I could book passage off this matriarchal world and work my way out to the fringes, where people could still live free lives if dangerous ones. There's nothing wrong with being a slave here; most men are. Until now I'd just been able to make my own way.

I came out here on a work visa, the only way I could find to get off my failing planet before it died completely. I'm as highly educated as these core worlds will allow a male to be, a hydroponic technician with a gift for making rare things grow. Most of the men on these worlds live as slaves, but I'd been making my own way ever since leaving the group home where males like me are raised to adulthood.

I'm told I'm a pretty young man, handsome and slim. My ancestry traces back to the North European nations of Earth; just one strand in the complex web of human genetics we have out here. I burn a little too easily in this planet's constant sunlight, but apart from that, I can't complain.

Most of my fellow males have jobs and lead good lives, but whose lives are not quite their own. Each is the property of a woman. The women own most of the men, and about half of the women too. They see themselves as the only rightful rulers of humankind, out here in the stars. The matriarchies have pushed equal societies right out to the fringes, outcompeting them on science, agriculture, defense, and economics. Psychology too, as it turns out. I knew that in theory, but I can tell you now, I had no idea just how far they'd mastered the male mind.

I savored my last moments of freedom as the monorail whisked me towards the enslavement center. My heart pounded in my chest and the sweat-soaked through my shirt. My clothes were cheap, dull material with no smart properties. Such luxuries were beyond me. I would have to turn over my personal data file and let the center see all my debts. Rent, fines for improper behavior, licenses, environmental violations. Laws I'd never been able to understand or comply with. They'd pay them all off in exchange for just a few months of my life. I could live with that.

I'd tried slavery, back home, with my second real girlfriend. I'd signed up for two weeks wearing her collar, her legal property within strict limits. I'd never been so scared or so helpless, and she'd treated me rough and cold, humiliating me at every step. I figured later she'd only ever been trying to get me to sign my life over to her so she could sell me at a profit. She dropped me the moment I wouldn't renew the contract.

I hoped this time I could end up belonging to some woman who was a little warmer. Someone who looked down on slave owners like my ex who put good men off slavery for life. She'd have been a pariah here, shut out of the social and economic life of the planet until she changed her ways. Just because someone's a slave here, it doesn't mean they get treated coldly; human possessions are treasured, in their way. As I sat there, my legs twitched and bounced around, nervous energy overflowing. I knew I had no influence over who my new owner would be. I had to roll the dice.

I thought about backing out, wavered, got up to get off the monorail, talked myself into going through with it. Over and over again I got up and sat down, my mind a riot of possibilities, good and bad. The monorail glided smoothly to a stop and the doors hissed open. I stepped out into the heat of a summer's day – not that the weather changed much in the temperate zone all us humans lived in.

Enjoying the sunlight on my face and shoulders, I strolled towards the enslavement center, a large building of cool stone, standing a little apart on its block, which was mostly light industry this far from the center. It looked friendly and welcoming, but like anyone else I knew the real training would mostly happen a few clicks away in the holding compound, a fortress of fences that stretched across two square kilometers of land. In that space, all manner of training happened, depending on what you signed up for and what they thought you'd excel at.

I paused one last time outside the center doors. The receptionist inside caught my eye and smiled. Poor health and bad looks were a thing of humanity's distant past, left behind when we'd taken up genetic engineering. Even so, she was cute. I walked in – terracotta walls and cool air met me – and went over to her, waited until she talked to me. I knew I had to be deferential here, even though she could tell from looking I wasn't a slave: no collar around my neck yet.

"Are you here to sell yourself or is there something else I can help you with?" she asked.

"Mistress, I would like to sell myself for three months please."

I had to address superior women as a mistress; and slavegirls as a miss. Men were the inferiors of both. I can't say it bothered me once I got used to it. By now it was second nature. She smiled, gracious and pretty.

"Of course, here, fill in the details and then come back to me. I'll need to summon a witness for your declaration."

I took the tablet she handed me and sat down on a plastic chair to work through the details. First I linked my personal ID to the tablet. It calculated my total debts and displayed them. I needed to construct a contract that would equal or exceed them – the balance would be paid to me when my slavery finished. It was this or debtor's prison but for a sentence five times the length. So, it was this.

I inputted my details. My name, origin, my education, my skills. The tablet asked for an exhaustive sexual history and a list of interests and fetishes. I've always been a sexual submissive, like most men since genetic engineering became common (and controlled by women). I'm heterosexual, like about half of men now. I could've had that changed easily enough, but I was too busy spending credits just to survive to ever afford it. Besides, I liked who I was.