New Story. 'Podded'. Segment I

A new story. Female Dominant/male submissive.

I have no idea where this will be going, but feel an obligation to keep you readers entertained. And hopefully in a mindset to buy a story!

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Podded

Copyright 2024

by Chis Bellows

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“Do you remember me, Miss Joan?”

In New York City... especially in Times Square... a girl is given to walk quickly, eyes straight ahead, ignore the nefarious characters... the homeless, slicksters, perverts, Jehovah’s Witnesses... in general slip past all the riff raff that for some reason collect about what should be the most presentable place in Manhattan. 

But I find I must stop. First the girl steps directly into my path. Normally such would be considered overly aggressive, but in being young, blonde, well made up with large flashy earrings there is limited concern. And second, I indeed remember her... though not naked. Now she wears a one piece dress, convenient for the months of summer in that one can simply toss over the head, assure the straps catch the shoulders, slip into flip flops and go. But this girl wears heels, ludicrously high, and notably impractical for walking the craggy sidewalks of New York... subway ventilation gratings aside. 

“I’m Bobbi,” a girlish voice exuberantly exclaims.

“Yes, yes I do remember,” looking about for onlookers, chiding myself for the nervous reaction.

Bobbi wishes to have a conversation. I do not. I resume walking, She moves with me on my right side, heels tapping to bring even more notice... unwanted notice.

“Not the time to have a conversation Bobbi. Not the place.”

“But I’m in trouble, Miss Joan. And you’ve been very kind to me in the past. You know... on the...”

“Sush, Bobbi,” now having good reason to be nervous. “I no longer do that... do what I did. I cannot help you.”

As I speak I head to a small open enclave... like a little park, in exchange for construction permits the City mandating that the developer of some high rise office building provide public space. There are tables and chairs where in warmer whether office flunkies can eat a sandwich during their lunch hour. I spy a table in the far corner. Being past the lunch hour, and also being prime time for panhandling on the streets, no one is using and it is isolated enough to have a quiet talk. 

I point. Bobbi sits. She embarrasses by lifting the hem of her short dress, panties to greet the seat. It’s an ingrained motion. And I know there are most likely no panties, bare butt to the cold iron.

“Where is your Master?” my tone scolding. “You must have one.”

“He... he... turned me out.”

“Why? You must have served him for many years. I have not worked the... well you know the place... in five years. If I recall when I graduated you were near... ah... placement.”

“Yes, five years. But Master got married. And his wife... well... things were okay for a while. Then she said no more fellatio. So I then served her... intimately... as I was trained. But then she got pregnant... and... well... raising a child meant as a servant I would have to be clothed... and then Master sort of lost all interest... no fellatio... no exhibition of...”

“So you’re out. Place to live?” interrupting.

“Master has paid for a hotel room. But yesterday said ‘that’s enough’. He’ll even cut off my cell phone by the end of the month,” a manicured finger of petite hand tapping a small purse which presumably holds Bobbi’s remaining lifeline.

“You have money?”

“It’s running out, Miss Joan. I’m trained for...”

“I know your skill set, Bobbi. Remember what I do... used to do. No need to mention the name of the place or your training... not here.”

“Yes, I know... the confidentiality thing.”

Yes, not only did I sign such an agreement upon arrival but also renewed before my graduation and departure. As a result, I remain receiving a monthly stipend... as long as I remain silent. Such is not enough to support me, but makes for upscale clothing and an occasional good meal which would otherwise be a strain.    

“Well, I now have a job, Bobbi... in the vanilla world... just as I am sure your Master has one. And I have a lover, we share an apartment. It would be difficult for me to help you. She’s... ah... not into... what you are... who you are.”     

“You’re with... a girl?”

“Yes, Bobbi, I am a lesbian. And whereas things with a penis I find tolerable, Rhodi does not.”

“But I’m... you know... podded.”

“Still in place?”

“You know, Miss Joan... it’s forever,” Bobbi turning glum.

I again look about... for anyone within hearing range. The use of the term brings a slew of emotions... concern... fear... even arousal... but for some reason little sympathy. In fact I inwardly smile. There come thoughts. No one would ascertain Bobbi’s birth gender in looking at him. In fact, but for expecting a baby, a wife would find Bobbi to be convenient... alleviating the need to suffer the drudgery of housework. Yes, marriage alone would not be a reason to preclude Bobbi from serving as his Master’s housemaid and sex slave. After all in being podded... along with other refinements... he is sexually harmless... androgynous. Perhaps I can have a talk with Rhodi. This thing... called Bobbi... has a penis... but... well... perhaps Rhodi can endure that which is not to be seen.

“Give me your phone number, Bobbi. Perhaps there is something I can do. But what about... ah... the placement people. Do you have a phone number?”

“Master called them. I am old... that’s what they said... and...well... they make more money placing new beneficiaries.”

Yes, I realize. Having graduated and left the island five years ago, that would presumably place Bobbi at about age 23 or 24. In the eyes of the clandestine group of wealthy Black Masters having a predilection for young Caucasian males, he is ancient.

“I have to move on. If you’re sucking cock to earn money, be careful Bobbi. There’s the police... any number of diseases... guys getting nasty if they... you know... find out,” nodding to Bobbi’s crotch. “You’ve got no tits to speak of,” too aware that horny guys like to grope even while receiving a quick and simple blow job.