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Male submission, Evolution and Enslavement

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One repeated accusation levelled against the Internal
Enslavement website is that we are in some way opposed to female dominance or
male submission.
This is simply false.
In attempting to understand relationships of Enslavement
between masters and female slaves, we have limited the scope of our work,
without claiming that similar relationships do not take place between people of
other genders and orientations.
human_bondage_by_scarlethana
Part of the reason for this self-imposed limitation, is that
we suspect that different forces are at work in men and women, just as we
subscribe to the existence of the more “vanilla” gender differences
identified in Evolutionary Psychology and other fields. Consequently, we limit
the size of the field we’re trying to understand at this stage.
This essay is a departure from that policy and is the result
of a recent discussion on the interplay between genetics and D/s, and outlines
some ways in which one candidate theory about D/s – that men are genetically
predisposed to submission – fails to measure up. Since the interactions of sex,
genetics and power naturally apply differently to men and women, these
arguments start to map how D/s might relate to Evolution (in this case, by
excluding one possibility.) As such, it provides one part of the wider
landscape into which an understanding of female internal enslavement must
eventually fit.
Are men naturally submissive?

(This essay mostly discusses Evolution, which naturally
deals with averages and statistically significant tendencies. So these trends
are observable in populations, even if some individuals choose to deviate from
how most behave.)
The assertion I’d like to discuss goes like this:
“Since men want sex, and can reproduce by getting a woman pregnant even in
a casual encounter with no commitment, men are more likely to be submissive,
since they will do anything the woman wants to get sexual access to her. This
leads to submission in men having a genetic basis – that is, as an adaptive
trait which has been selected for.”
Human males use two reproductive strategies. First, they try
to get casual access to as many females as they can outside of a relationship
(the “mate once” scenario, or “Extra-Pair Copulations”),
since these are almost “free” (the effort required to generate a
table spoon of semen is negligible.)
However, their second strategy is more common: they form a
long term bond with a female and expend most of their own resources supporting
her and her offspring (in the hope that her offspring are also his.) They then
employ various control tactics to try to prevent other males getting sexual
access to her, and all of these tactics involve relationship skills (things
like love, but also threats of punishing infidelity, or forming coalitions with
family members or other men to enforce female fidelity [which ultimately leads
to institutionalised marriage, for example.])
If a human male can control his long term sexual partner, he
gains by being able to put resources into supporting her offspring with some
confidence they are also his offspring. If this isn’t possible, then males and
females become solitary rather than mated because it’s not in males’ interests
to offer that support. The fact that humans, unlike many other species, haven’t
lost this behaviour, shows that this confidence has largely been present during
the period of human evolution.
As long as a man is sure his partner is faithful, she doesn’t
need to control him to get him to support her and her (his) children, since
that is in his reproductive interests too (of course, this is a statistical
statement, and specifics can kill a relationship too: for example, loss of
access to resources themselves [“When the wolf is at the door, love goes
out the window.”])
Even more fundamentally, why do females want to engage in
extra-pair sex? (and risk losing their long term partner and his contribution.)
They do this when a “fitter” (in terms of long term reproductive
success) male comes along, that her genes will benefit from mixing with in her
pool of offspring.
(This is a bit like the man who asked his wife, after seeing
Indecent Proposal, “Would YOU sleep with Robert Redford for a million
dollars?” She replied, “Yes, but they’d have to give me some time to
come up with the money.”)
In these encounters, the man is of higher status in the
“market” than the women, and he is exchanging his fitter genes in
return for access to her womb (and the resources of the poor sap at home who is
supporting her day in day out.) Consequently, he doesn’t need to submit to her,
since he’s in something like a seller’s market.
And as I’ve outlined above, men in long term relationships
supporting women and their offspring need to control them (at least as far as
their sexual encounters with other men goes.) If they don’t, their line dies
out, since other, higher status men, win out. (They are documented cases of
pre-industrial societies where 50% of each generation are offspring of the
village chief, one way or another, so this danger is very real.)
For these reasons, we argue that male submissiveness is not
an adaptive trait which has been selected for (that it “does not have a
genetic basis” and is “not part of human nature”.)
Objections to an Evolutionary Psychological approach

This kind of attempt to understand the interplay between
genetics, human nature and behaviour offends some people’s sense of Political
Correctness, even when the conclusion is in accordance with the PC orthodoxy of
“nurture not nature”: we’re saying that the male submissiveness we
see is a product of culture and environment, not of genetics.
In doing this, we suffer from the same kinds of objections
as are levelled at Evolutionary Psychology in general.
First, that if male submission is not genetic or part of
human nature, it is “Unnatural” and therefore Bad. This is a
restatement of the Naturalistic Fallacy, which claims that which is Natural is
Good, and that which is Unnatural is Bad. A brief look at the statistics of
murder in hunter/gatherer societies (where something like one third of all
young men are killed in fights, disputes or warfare) quickly dispels this
myth.
Consequently, we do not for a moment claim that there is
anything wrong with male submission, because (like brain surgery and web
design) it’s not a genetic trait that evolution has selected for over hundreds
of thousands of years.
Secondly, that evolutionary arguments are meaningless,
because many things about humans have no genetic basis. This is a more subtle
argument, but it falls down when the predictions of evolutionary arguments are
looked at: if we are able to identify possible features of human nature which
have been selected for or selected against, we can make predictions about human
behaviour in general, and test our claims.
For example, it could be asserted that “masturbation
doesn’t lead to offspring, but people masturbate, so leading to offspring can’t
solely determine what behaviours people show. So presence or lack of male
submission in human nature tells us nothing about whether male submission
happens.”
The most likely explanation of masturbation is as a by-product of human (mostly male) sexual
drives. By products themselves don’t need their own explanation, since they are
perfectly well explained by something else which is adaptive (ie promotes
reproductive success) and they don’t get in the way of success themselves. For
example, the utility of the umbilical cord provides a perfectly good
explanation of the belly button as a by-product.
This hypothesis predicts that if masturbation is a
by-product, sex with another person must be preferred over it in human nature
(as is indeed the case.) Therefore it’s presence, like the belly button’s, is
mostly safely hidden from the reproductive fitness of the individual. (For
example, if a man jerks off and then, to his dismay, immediately gets a chance
to have sex with an attractive woman, he’s still usually got another “one
in him” for sufficiently exciting situations like this.)
However, as explained above, male submission isn’t a neutral
by-product of this sort, because it interferes with both human male
reproductive strategies, and in particular, increases his risk of bringing up
other men’s offspring instead of having children with his own genes.
Consequently, these issues are crucially important to
reproductive success. This importance naturally has a huge effect on how many
men exhibit these behaviours.
So one prediction of this conclusion is that if there was a
widespread genetic trait that produced male submissiveness, we would expect to
see that behaviour widespread in the general human population. We don’t. There
is not one human society led by its women, as a class, rather than by its men,
as a class.
Conclusion

This is not to say that male submission doesn’t exist: it is
merely a statement about how common it is in the wider human population. We
don’t believe rubber or fur fetishes have a genetic basis either (other than
people’s general ability to build up associations between sex and random
stimuli.) That doesn’t for a moment mean that fetishes don’t exist or that they
are wrong: just that a population that naturally preferred fur to sex would not
have survived for hundreds of thousands of years into the present day.

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Look, Ladies, His Boobies ! Part Two

Part One HERE


Feel free to email Me your stories at mistress.lady.leyla@gmail.com, I do publish them

By Ian / Brianna
               “BUT
Janet!”  I pleaded, “please don’t give me
any more hormones!  They hurt!”
              
               My voice
came through muffled from inside my slave helmet, my tongue depressed by the
force-feeder funnel my wife used to spit Premarin and Provera tablets into my
mouth along with a good deal of her spit, which washed them immediately down my
throat.  She chuckled and did it again,
as she did every morning, despite my pleas. 
               “What
was that, Brianna?  I couldn’t quite hear
you?”
               “Sore!”
I moaned, “my breasts are getting sore, and they’re so large!”
               “Oh,
Brianna, I must disagree, “ my wife said. 
“Sore they may be, but they are nowhere near large as yet.  However, we’ll soon fix that.”  She picked up the phone and started punching
in a number.
               “Wh- who
are you calling?”
               “Whom,
Dear,” she corrected me,  “Hello?  Is this the Gender Clinic?   Fine. 
I spoke with Dr. Rhoda the other day about my husband.  Yes, he is ready now for implants.  All right, I’ll bring him in this
afternoon.  Two o’clock?  Just a moment.”  Turning to me, Janet smiled coyly and said
“You don’t have anything planned for two today, do you, Dear?”
               I tried
to protest but all that came out were muffled exclamations.  “I thought not,” she purred, “Yes, two
o’clock will do fine.  My husband is
looking forward to the operation.  Yes,
of course he will sign the consent form. 
We’ll see you then.  ‘Bye.”
               After
she hung up, I told her no way in hell I would ever sign for breast
implants.  This time she heard me.  Reaching inside her bosom, she brought out a
locking chastity device, saying “I have something here that I think will change
your mind.”  Bound as I was to the bed, I
could only watch helplessly while she imprisoned my by now undersaized penis in
it,  It had teeth, and locked around my
scrotum.  “There,” she said,  “now the smallest little sign of enthusiasm
from your clitty and this metal fellow will bite you in a dozen places.”  Before releasing my bonds and taking off the
helmet, she placed the key to the chastity collar in her mouth, holding it with
her tongue against the inside of her cheek! 
               “I don’t
mind swallowing this key, Brianna, “ she said, smiling sweetly, “and if I do,
you will never get free of your little collar down there.  So one false move or word of protest, and you
can kiss your little clitty good-bye, for good! 
Now we will dress and drive to the clinic.  We’re due there in half an hour.  When we get there, you will answer all the
nurse’s questions truthfully.  You do
want big breasts, don’t you, Dear? 
Hmmm?” and she ran her tongue across the inside of her cheek. 
               “Yes,
yes, of course, Dear,” I said, in an agony of nerves. 
               “That’s
what I thought, and that’s why you’ll be signing the consent form, won’t you?”
               “Yes, of
course I’ll sign – only please be careful, d- don’t swallow the key!”
               “Oh, this
little thing?  Oh dear, I almost did
swallow it!  I just don’t know how I’m
going to get to the clinic and back without accidentally gulping it down.  But if you are very sweet and co-operative,
Dear, I’ll try my best.”
               Janet
dressed me for our doctor’s visit.  She
snapped me tightly into a black satin waist cincher with six garter straps, to
which she attached fully-fashioned seamed nylon stockings drawn tantalizingly
up my legs – her every move calculated to make my “clitty” swell and engage the
cruel teeth of my chastity collar.  She
delighted in oscillating me thus between pleasure and pain.  She sprayed me with her personal perfume,
then removed the elaborately frilled lacy panties she had worn all yesterday
and all night long, rubbed their crotch briefly across my nose and lips, then
pulled them up over the garter straps and my imprisoned penis. 
               “Turn
around, Dear,” she ordered sweetly, and drew on my B-cup bra,  “Just think, Ian,” she purred, “this will be
the last time you will fit into this little thing.  I’ve got your new bras already picked out for
you at Victoria’s Secret, and I bought one of them there yesterday to take
along with us today.  You’ll need
support, and need it badly, on the way home! 
It’s here in my handbag – no, no peeking!” she giggled.  I was anxious to see how large it was!
               A frilly
blouse with flounced sleeves and a bolero jacket completed my upper ensemble,
while black capris and sandals with 2-inch heels, exposing my nyloned feet and
ankles, completed me down below.  Fixing
a saucy beret on my head and smoothing down my brows with a spit-moistened
finger, Janet declared me almost fit to travel. 
She finished my dolling-up with a little dash of pink lipstick on my
lips, a touch of rouge to my cheeks and light eye makeup – she liked to
understate the feminine appearance of my face, so that people would still guess
I am a man – and changed my earrings to more dangling, sluttish-looking ones
with small pearls.
               I drove
us to the clinic, anxious to prevent any accidental swallowing on her part by
doing all the work of driving, holding the doors for her, even helping her into
her chair in the waiting room.  And when
the nurse presented me with the consent form, I signed it immediately, as Janet
stamped her foot impatiently, not daring to take the time to read it!
               When I
sat down next to her again, Janet took a dainty handkerchief from her purse and
blew her nose, pretending to accidentally swallow the key in the process.   Then without folding it over she held it
over my nose and lips, moistening them with her snot, and said “Blow,
Dear.”  I managed to shiff out a little
air, upon which she smiled contentedly and wiped her moist hanky across my
nostrils and lips, then replaced it in her purse.  “Oh!” she said suddenly, “what’s this?  Hold still, Dear.” Taking out the hanky again
she spit in it, then scrubbed my face, first one cheek, then the other, while
the other women in the waiting room laughed a little at my beet-red
embarrassment.  Then a nurse peeked out
of the doctor’s office and called my name.
               Dr.
Rhoda was a dark, dusky brunette, rather tall and very bosomy.  Reading through the signed consent form, she
smiled at me and said, “Now, according to this form, Sir., you state you are
willing to undergo a series of operations, beginning with implants.  Is that correct?”
               “A, a
series?” I stammered, then caught my wife’s eye as she played with her tongue
inside her mouth and quickly added, “Yes, yes, Dr. Rhoda, that’s so!”
               “Really?  That is marvelous, if a little unusual.  And you realize these implants will be quite
large?  Usually we start a patient off
with no more than 38C cups and work our way up from there, but I see you are
eager to skip all the intermediate steps and go straight to a 44 double-D.  Are you sure?”
               “Fuh-
fur-forty-four duh- double D?”  I looked
over at Janet with a panicked expression. 
She just arched her eyebrows, looking away from me,  and I saw her swallow!”
               :”Yes,
yes, Doctor, “ I cried, tears running down my cheeks now, “Anything!  I agree to everything!”
               “Very
well, then, Sir, off with those clothes and mount the stirrups!”
               “Now, “
I thought, “the doctor will see my toothed cock-collar and will realize I am
under duress,” but the dusky doctor appeared to take no notice of it as I
placed my legs in the stirrups.  I
realized with a sinking feeling that she was in on it with my wife, and all her
questions were just to mock me.  A nurse
quickly bound my arms to the sides of the operating table, and placed two large
pillows behind my head.  The purpose of
this became evident when Doctor Rhoda asked my wife “Do you want him to have a
full anesthetic, to be out during the operation?  Or will a local to the breasts be
sufficient?”
               “Oh, “
said Janet,.”a local by all means.  Ian
wants to watch his breasts bloom, don’t you, Dear?”  Shocked, I could only nod my head in consent.
               :”I
thought he might,” said Dr. Rhoda, “that’s why we’ve placed pillows behind his
head, so he can watch the whole operation in comfort.”  To the nurse she said “prepare the
syringes.” 
               With a
mocking little smile, the pert blonde nurse injected me with the local
anesthetics in my armpits and on the outer sides of my breasts.   Then she did the same to my buttocks,
injecting them off-center, towards my hips!
               “Wh –
why are you injecting me down there as well?” I asked.
               “Oh,
Ian,” said my wife, “you want your body to be in balance, don’t you?  With such big boobs you will need an ass and
hips to match, don’t you agree?”
               “Y- yes,
I see what you mean!”
               “Not
yet.  But you soon will,” said Doctor
Rhoda. “Feeling numb yet, Sir>”
               “Y –
yes, it’s getting numb on the left now,” I admitted. 
               ”Then
let’s begin.”  Doctor Rhoda swabbed my
left armpit with antiseptic and then,. taking up a small scalpel, made a small
incision there.  As she worked, she
explained the procedure I was undergoing to me. 
“We don’t want the scars to show, so we generally prefer to insert the
implants through the axila.  That’s your
armpits, of course.  However, this
incision is for my endoscope so I can see what I’m doing inside you and position
the implant in just the right spot.” 
               Doctor
Rhoda inserted a small tube with a bright light into the incision.  The tube was linked to a screen at her
elbow.  As she moved the instrument into
the flesh of my left breast, I was fascinated with viewing my innards on the
screen.  However, I was soon distracted
by the second incision, in which she inserted the implant, which trailed a tube
to a saline pump next to the screen. 
This brought me back to the reality of my position – helplessly bound to
this operating table, and about to be given huge 44-double-D breasts for the
pleasure of my sadistic wife!  Why was
Janet doing these things to me?  Why did
she want to turn me into a woman?  The
answer was not long in coming.
               Now the
implant had been inserted in place, and the doctor started the pump.  Slowly, gradually, the flesh around my left
nipple started to swell – and swell – and swell!  If  I
hadn’t been numbed there I knew I would be screaming with the painful pressure,
as my left breast, hitherto “hideable”, began ballooning out, growing larger
and larger – and larger!  Now my nipple
was almost as big as the whole breast had been; the doctor looked inquiringly
at Janet, but Janet shook her head no, and the pump continued to fill the
ultra-flexible sac in my breast with saline solution!  At last, when I could no longer see anything
towards the left front but my enormous boob, the doctor sent a sealant through
the pump that sealed off the sac.
 
She then moved to my right side and began repeating the
operation, this time without explanations. 
I watched in horror as my right tit blossomed out to match my left.  Janet’s grinning face finally disappeared,
setting like the moon below the horizon of my enormaous breasts!
               Then I
could feel, without being able to watch, something similar being done to my
left buttock and hip, and then finally my right.  At last they elevated my backrest and wheeled
a full-length mirror in front of me. 
               I
fainted.
               I must
have been out only a few minutes, because I was immediately aware of smelling
salts and then there I was again in the mirror, staring back at myself, a
full-breasted, voluptuous woman now with a tiny penis locked in a toothed metal
collar!  Janet and Dr. Rhoda both grinned
at me, then the doctor put her arm around my wife’s shoulder and kissed her
long and passionately!  “Oh, Rhoda,”
Janet breathed between kisses, “it’s turned out just as wonderful as you said
it would.  I’m so glad I took your advice
in the first place and decided to transform Ian. You did a beaitoful job!”
               “Dearest,”
said the doctor, “perhaps we’d better call ‘her’ Brianna now all the time,
don’t you think?  No one will ever
believe she is a man, that is, not unless they see her little clitty; and maybe
we can do something about that as well?”
               “Yes, I
think so,” said Janet.  “I didn’t want to
at first, because I wanted Ian – I mean Brianna –  to keep a little reminder of the time when
she was a man.  But that no longer seems
important.  If it pleases you, dear
Rhoda, we’ll cut it off and fashion a lovely vagina for her!”
               “Yes,
soon, my love.  But Brianna will have to
heal first from today’s operations.  And
after you have both moved in with me, think how ideal life will be, with our
own maidservant to wait on us and render us every intimate service.  And afterwards, she will be just like us!
               I felt
dizzy and almost fainted again.  Then I
was given a mild sedative by the pert blonde nurse.  As I drifted off, I heard Dr, Rhoda saying
“We must be very gentle with her for the next month or so.  No driving, no lifting or stretching her arms
overhead….”
               I slept a
lot after that, waking up at first at home, then later at our new home in Dr.
Rhoda’s house.  The first time I woke up,
Janet said “Time to take off that uncomfortable collar now, Brianna.”  She reached inside her bosom and fished out
the key. 
               :Though
still groggy, I managed to feel surprised. 
“I thought you had swallowed it!” I exclaimed. 
               “Oh, no,
it was here in my blouse all the time,” Janet giggled.  “I palmed it. 
You didn’t know that stage magic was my hobby, did you, Dear?”

*** End of Part Two ***

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@sinfulandwicked ~ #BDSM : #Porn Isn’t ‘Ruining’ Women. Exploitative Labor Is.


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