Chapter 2

Harry The Houseboy

Harry’s life as a Phyllis’s houseboy had turned out to be better than the situation of many of his contemporaries. A sponsored male in New Order Britain wasn’t under the sort of constant surveillance, harassment, and suspicion of subversion that un-sponsored males had to put up with. And besides, Phyllis had turned out to be a reasonable sponsor.

The dream at school had been to be picked out as some girl’s life-partner but, realistically, that didn’t happen to more than a handful of men. Harry knew that most women these days preferred to be able to pick and chose a man when and where they wanted There wasn’t any need to stick with one for longer than they met your needs. There were still some like Marianne Higgs and her strange “marriage” thing but, apart from pensioners and fringe religious believers, hardly anyone did that sort of thing now.

No, he’d been content enough when he finished education at sixteen to be taken into sponsorship by one of the service companies. Inevitably, that gave them a lot of control over his life but it meant the police and the rest of the State didn’t worry about him, as long as he kept his nose clean.

Then, he’d been put on placement with Phyllis. Harry didn’t know what had happened to her last houseboy but sometimes sponsors just got bored with their charges and moved them on.

Harry remembered his first introduction to her. He had been twenty years old, just over four years ago. He’d been called to a meeting in the office. He’d thought that, at least, would make for a quieter morning than usual. His supervisor had been there and so had Mrs Phyllis Dangerfield. His first thought was she’d come to complain about some of the work he’d been assigned to the day before. She was in her early forties, he guessed, smartly dressed in a rather conservative dark suit. Expensive hosiery and shoes, Harry noticed – he tended to spot things like that. She had long blond hair piled up on her head. Darker traces at the nape of her neck suggested to Harry that the blond wasn’t natural. She looked at him without much expression and then flipped over some of the pages in the folder she had on her lap.

“Hmmm,” she’d said to the supervisor, warily “he looks like he’ll do. Assuming the usual ‘return-if-unsatisfactory’ arrangement applies.”

His supervisor nodded. “Up to 3 months, yes. After that, well….” Harry understood. At twenty, he was thought to be more of a problem to manage. Most of the service company sponsorships were kids not long out of school.

“All right then,” Phyllis had said, pushing the file into her bag as she got to her feet. “Come with me, boy.” She had stopped and turned as she got to the door of the office, looking back at his supervisor. “Sorry,” she said, “what was his name again?”

The supervisor looked down at her notes, failing to recall it herself. “Harry,” she said.

“Fine,” Phyllis had replied. “Harry.”

Thinking back, Harry was almost surprised that she had asked. Phyllis rarely used it.

He thought about it afterwards. Should he have resented the impersonal way in which his reallocation had been dealt with? Maybe, but that was just how things were. And Phyllis had turned out to be a better sponsor than the service company. After all, he only had to worry about how she liked things and making sure he did his work to her satisfaction. With the service company, it always seemed he had at least two people on his back: the company and its client.

Still, at the service company he had pretty much developed all the skills he needed as a houseboy. Cleaning and house maintenance, laundry, cooking, everything needed to keep the house going; he could manage all of that. Phyllis’s house wasn’t too big for him to manage on his own. The work load hadn’t been too bad until Fara had come back from boarding school which meant all the mess of a teenage girl to clear up after. Even with Fara around he felt he was on top of his work.

The accommodation wasn’t too bad. He had a room up at the top of the house under the roof. It tended to be hot in summer and cold in winter, but at least he got a bit of time to himself. He even had a television that Phyllis had set up. It only got the stations coded to his Ident Card – that was just the way of things – so it meant he didn’t get to see much apart from the propaganda that the State thought suitable for males, but it was much better than many others had.

Naturally there was the inevitable matter of s-e-x. Phyllis enjoyed it and expected Harry to deliver when she felt the need, but she was less demanding than his supervisor and some of the other women at the service company had been. Of course, there was no question of prick-sex. Phyllis was way too conventional for that, Harry thought, but she was an enthusiastic bed partner as long as his tongue was in the right spot.

At least she hadn’t thought about having him cock-caged. Plenty of men on sponsorship programmes had to put up with that. The argument was that men couldn’t be trusted not to let their baser instincts run away with them. Harry thought it was pretty unfair. Women were free to dress as they pleased and men were expected not to respond, except perhaps with a look of chaste gratitude that a woman should deign to appear sexually alluring in their presence.

Some women made a science of it. New Order had sponsored plenty of sociological research on the sexual conditioning of the male to accept a subordinate position in society. The results had showed up in women’s fashion, behaviour and lifestyle choices. Women took enthusiastically to their new freedoms and wanted to make sure they reinforced them. For women that enjoyed fetish fashion, or just showing off, the new social norms were a gift. And for manufacturers of leather and rubber clothing, bondage and other fetish items, it had had been a time of unparalleled demand.

Phyllis had read some of the research material – as a sociology major. she’d found it interesting – but she was pretty sure that it was all much simpler than the research made out. There were certain sexual triggers that affected men and by and large, they were simple souls, unable to think of other things if their dicks were stiff.

Take Harry, for instance. Phyllis had realised quite early on that he had a thing about women’s shoes and feet. That was fine with Phyllis. She’d invested in a few pairs of fetish shoes and kept him on all fours for a few days following her around at home. He’d soon got the idea that that was where he belonged and he was happy to do as he was told in the hope of being allowed to curl up at her feet later. She suspected he was masturbating at the thought of it whenever he got a free moment but that suited her; it just reinforced his sexual response and made him all the more pliable. She’d thought about cock-caging him but, in the end, had decided against it. It was a lot of trouble and anyway, what did it matter? It seemed to Phyllis the best thing she could do was to let him reinforce the triggers and desires that kept him compliant.