Among the lost and bored

Jesse walked through the city streets, making sure to wiggle his hips correctly and enjoying the slightly-swaying bounce that gave his view on the world. Every step in his beautiful, black heels had to be placed carefully… else he’d end up toppling knees over ears in an embarrassing and most definitely not-sexy, little heap. Yet somehow he had grown to love the self-conscious, luxuriant sense of awareness that gave his every walk through the hustle and bustle of a chilly, fall morning. Lifted up to balance precariously on stilts between all the comers and goers of just another change of shifts between the day-walkers and night-denizens of Residential District 23. He couldn’t help but feel the eyes of every passing stranger slide up and down his put-very-much-on-display body. Even at a glance, they all knew what he was. What he was for. Something in that made the young sissy feel like he fit into the complex ecosystems here more than he ever had growing up. Every time the tight collar around his neck gave a slight buzz to indicate someone had looked him up and bought a subscription to all the candid photos of him that were saved on there… it sent a thrill right to the centre of his little heart. You could get addicted to counting those subtle, notifying vibrations throughout the day. Feel your mood rise or fall just on whether it seemed like today you were more or less popular than yesterday… and then lie awake at night imagining all those invisible strangers who might be playing with themselves right at that second, staring at an image of your milky curves.

When he arrived at the Maglev station there was already the usual crowd of fellow commuters clogging up the platforms. He had began to recognise a lot of the regular faces that joined him in this daily ritual… along with the groping touch of many of their hands. It was a casual, warming experience to wander between those bodies. Sensing one indistinguishable palm after another give a little pat or squeeze under the front or back of his skirt. The confidence of all those involved had only increased over the months as he himself became more of a known quality along with the fact that he did not yet have a specific and possibly jealously defensive owner. Having such a highly-tiered slutwife come from and through this neighbourhood was still quite the rarity, after all. Most of the other playthings and fucktoys that took this route were much more run-of-the-mill office furniture, and Jesse often caught them giving him slightly-irritated looks… despite possibly enjoying a distraction away from their own constant molestations. It seemed strange to the still very much a schoolboy: that if he’d been rated 3rd tier or below he’d be almost completely done with his training by now… and already picked up in some corporate bulk-purchase towards whatever subsidiary company he’d be serving and entertaining for the rest of his life. Lost in the great swathes of middle class population who had little better to do with their time than work a job that visibly achieved nothing and take out the frustrations of that on the handily provided lumps of submissive flesh.

Fran had once described the whole thing as ‘creches for the infinite supply of middle-aged perverts’ ...and it was true: If you were not born into one of the later generations of increasingly subservient Home kids, it seemed like all the algorithm could think to do with you was stick you in one building or another with enough of said human playthings to stave off boredom. Sure, there was still an endless market for one side of the cities to produce luxuries and distractions aimed loosely toward the other, and vice versa… But it all seemed to become a morass of overtrodden cliches and forever-stalled projects as the coding and marketing teams got fed up with each other and went back to fucking the twenty-something tied up in the corner. At least, that was the way Betsy presented it to Jesse after her favourite interactive story series of ‘Suburban Sissy Diaries’ was delayed for the fourth or fifth time. Nobody was in a rush to get things done anymore… there was just always another day. While checking whether enough other people were complaining about all that on message boards was really the most favoured international pastime. Compared to all that, Jesse was really starting to think he was lucky to have been given such a chance and direction. He understood now: Madame Stanfield’s opening speech on perfection. Half-hoping he could hear it again when she welcomed the next class of fresh meat arriving in a month. He still had so much left to learn in becoming only the most highly-considered fuckmeat available. Cornering his constant self-doubting into an obsession over every little detail in his appearance and the performance of his duties... And every hand that took time to reach down and explore his ass; or informative buzz around his throat; seemed to further validate those efforts.

When the Maglev arrived and the femboy stepped into the carriage, he smiled to see Mrs Mullally waiting there. The old lady who first made him jerk off in front of her when they met all those months ago, had become a common, weekly feature on his journeys into school. She remained a horrible, conniving and foul-mouthed hag who always had some new plan on how to publicly humiliate him… but none of that stopped the delighted-to-see-her smile the femboy offered. She was exactly the sort of mistress he needed to prepare for most, after all. As any good slutwife would.