The Invisible Revolution

Author's note: Hey there! I hope you're having a wonderful day! Just a quick interruption in your scheduled reading to inform you that I've created a Discord server around hypnosis, mind control and transformations, with a focus on concept stories. I'll also keep everyone updated about my upcoming stories (big novel underway) there. Feel free to join!

I left Zoe's apartment building and stepped back into a world that was simultaneously familiar and utterly alien. The street was the same as always—same potholes, same graffiti on the corner mailbox, same hot dog vendor who never seemed to get any customers. But now, every woman who passed me did a double-take, their expressions shifting from casual indifference to recognition and availability in the span of seconds.

A businesswoman in a sharp pantsuit nodded at me with a small smile before continuing her phone call, though her eyes lingered a bit longer than they would have yesterday. A group of college girls giggled and whispered to each other, one of them boldly waving at me. An elderly woman pushing a shopping cart simply gave me a respectful nod, like I was some kind of minor dignitary.

I kept my head down and quickened my pace. I was too mentally exhausted to deal with any of this right now. The weight of what had happened—what was still happening—pressed down on me like a physical ****. I just wanted to get home, crawl into bed, and maybe wake up tomorrow to find the world back to normal.

By the time I reached my apartment building, I'd been offered three blowjobs, two full sexual encounters, and one woman had simply handed me her phone number with a casual "If you ever need anything, Owner." I'd declined them all as politely as possible, though each woman seemed more confused by my refusal than offended.

I fumbled with my keys at my apartment door, the familiar scent of unwashed laundry and three-day-old takeout hitting me as I stepped inside. But this time, I didn't just ignore it as I usually did. For the first time in months, I really saw my apartment—the pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table, the dirty clothes scattered across the floor, the thin layer of dust covering every surface, the gaming setup that was the only thing in the entire place that could be considered well-maintained.

"Jesus," I muttered, kicking aside an empty energy drink can. "I live like a fucking animal."

Was this what it took? Some cosmic joke that made me the owner of every woman on the planet? That was the slap in the face I needed to finally look around and realize I'd been living in squalor? How fucked up was that?

I picked up a t-shirt from the floor, sniffed it, and grimaced. When was the last time I'd done laundry? Two weeks ago? Three?

Then a thought occurred to me—I could literally knock on my neighbor's door right now. The Johnsons lived there—nice enough family, though their kids were always making noise that sometimes interrupted my Valheim raids. Mrs. Johnson was attractive in that suburban mom way—probably mid-thirties, dirty blonde hair usually pulled back in a ponytail, decent figure maintained through what I assumed was yoga or Pilates or whatever suburban moms did to stay fit.

I could knock on their door, and she would answer. And I could just… ask her to clean my apartment. Naked. On all fours, scrubbing my floors, dusting my shelves, washing my disgusting laundry. Both maid and fucktoy. And she wouldn't bat an eye. Neither would Mr. Johnson, if he was home. He'd probably just ask if she'd be done in time to pick up the kids from soccer practice.

The realization that I was seriously contemplating using my neighbor as a cleaning service with benefits instead of just cleaning the place myself made me feel a twinge of guilt. But then I shrugged it off. Wasn't that what this whole "ownership" thing was about? Using what was now apparently mine?

Maybe I felt too bad about it to go through with it. Maybe I didn't believe in it enough to do anything about it. But I decided It'd reconsider the option later. Right now, I was curious about something else. If this apparent change was as worldwide as it seemed, people had to be talking about it online. News sites, social media, forums—there had to be discussions, theories, maybe even explanations.

I navigated through the mess to my gaming setup and powered on my PC. The familiar hum of the cooling fans was oddly comforting in the midst of all this strangeness. I opened my browser and started checking the usual sites—news aggregators, Twitter, Reddit, even the Valheilm forums.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

CNN was running stories about a minor political scandal and a hurricane forming in the Atlantic. Twitter was filled with the usual mix of memes, outrage, and celebrity gossip. Reddit's front page featured cat videos and relationship advice. The Valheim forums were debating the merits of the latest patch that had nerfed my favorite character class.

Not a single mention of a man who suddenly owned every woman on Earth. Not one post about women worldwide acknowledging a single owner. No theories, no explanations, no panicked discussions.

I frowned at my screen, drumming my fingers against my desk. Maybe I was just using the wrong search terms. I typed "owner" into Google and immediately regretted it. The results were a useless mishmash of business articles about company owners, pet ownership guides, and home ownership tips. Nothing about suddenly becoming the owner of every woman on Earth.

"Come on," I muttered, refining my search. "Owner of women," I typed, then immediately cringed at how that looked in my search history.

This time the results were almost exclusively BDSM content—articles about "owning" a submissive partner, guides to "total power exchange" relationships, and porn. Lots and lots of porn. Nothing about a worldwide phenomenon where every woman suddenly acknowledged a single owner.

"For fuck's sake," I growled, filtering to only show results from the past 24 hours and adding site:reddit.com to the search.

I scrolled through more irrelevant results, my frustration mounting. Then something caught my eye—a Reddit thread from r/women titled "So I guess we're all owned now? LOL what's up with that?"

I clicked on it, my heart racing. Finally, some acknowledgment that this was happening!

The thread had dozens of comments, but what struck me was the casual tone of the discussion. It wasn't panicked or outraged—it was matter-of-fact, almost mundane.

FeministFury92: So weird having to tell my boyfriend we can't have sex anymore unless our owner says it's okay. He's being such a baby about it. Like, dude, I don't make the rules.

GreenThumb87: I know, right? My husband was so confused this morning. I was like, "Sorry, babe, that's just how it is now." He actually asked if he could write a letter to my owner requesting permission. I was like, "Good luck with that, we don't even know who he is yet!"

BookishBabe: I'm wondering if I should start carrying an overnight bag with me just in case I run into my owner and he wants me to go somewhere with him. Would that be presumptuous? I don't want to seem like I'm expecting anything, but also don't want to be unprepared.

DoctorDonna: @BookishBabe That's actually smart. I've prepared a little emergency kit for my car—change of clothes, toothbrush, basic makeup. Better safe than sorry!

CatMom45: Does anyone else wonder who our owner actually is? Like, is he young, old, nice, mean? Not that it matters, obviously, but I'm curious.

YogaQueen23: @CatMom45 I've thought about it. Statistically, he's probably Chinese or Indian just based on population numbers. But honestly, whoever he is, I just hope he doesn't make me miss my sister's wedding next month. I already bought the bridesmaid dress and everything.

FeministFury92: @YogaQueen23 OMG same! I have tickets to see Taylor Swift in December and I will literally die if I have to miss it. Maybe our owner is a Swiftie too?

The conversation continued like this—women casually discussing the logistics of being owned, mixed in with completely normal topics like recipe recommendations and TV show discussions. It was surreal. They acknowledged the change but treated it with the same level of concern they might have for a minor inconvenience like a rainy forecast or a delayed train.

And none of them knew it was me. They were all wondering about their mysterious "owner," completely unaware that he was a thirty-two-year-old unemployed gamer sitting in a filthy apartment, reading their comments with his mouth hanging open.

What was even stranger was that this thread wasn't even particularly popular. It wasn't pinned, wasn't trending, wasn't even in the top ten posts of the day on r/women. There were more comments and engagement on threads about period product recommendations and workplace sexism than there were on "So I guess we're all owned now?"

It was as if this monumental, reality-altering event was just… not that big a deal. An inconvenience, maybe. A curiosity, sure. But nothing worth getting worked up about.

I kept digging, expanding my search to other subreddits and social media platforms. The pattern was consistent—scattered discussions about women being owned, all treated with the same casual acceptance.

On r/relationships, a post titled "Need advice on asking for permission to sleep with my girlfriend" had a modest number of upvotes:

ThrowRA_GuyInNeed: So like everyone else, I woke up this morning to find out my girlfriend of 3 years can't have sex with me anymore without her owner's permission. Anyone have any luck tracking this guy down? I don't want to be pushy or anything, but it's our anniversary next week and I was kind of planning something special.

The responses were equally bizarre:

AdviceGuru101: Dude, join the club. There's a Discord server trying to coordinate efforts to find him. Link below. But honestly, don't get your hopes up. Billions of people on Earth, finding one specific guy is like finding a needle in a haystack. We might have to wait for him to reveal himself.

RelationshipVet: My wife and I are in the same boat. Weird timing too, we've been trying for a baby. Now I have to get some stranger's permission to impregnate my own wife? Talk about awkward.

DatingCoach22: Look on the bright side, guys—at least you know she's not cheating on you now!

I clicked on the Discord link and found myself in a server called "Finding The Owner." It had about 20,000 members, all men comparing notes and theories about who might own all women now and how to contact him. It was a lot, but in the grand scheme of things, it was nothing.

One channel was dedicated to sightings—men reporting instances where they'd seen women behaving unusually toward a specific man. Another channel was for "permission strategies"—guys workshopping polite, non-intrusive ways to ask for permission to be intimate with their wives, girlfriends, or crushes once they found the owner.

What struck me was how… normal they all treated this. There was frustration, sure. Inconvenience, definitely. But no one was questioning the fundamental reality of the situation. No one was asking HOW this had happened or WHY. There were no conspiracy theories about government mind control, no religious interpretations about the end times, no scientific debates about mass hysteria or neurological phenomena.

It was as if the world had woken up to find that gravity now worked slightly differently—unexpected and inconvenient, but not fundamentally shocking, unless you were a scientist.

The closest thing to outrage I could find was a thread titled "This is bullshit, but what can you do?" where guys were venting their frustrations:

MikeT88: Been with my girl for 5 years, was gonna propose next month. Now I gotta ask some random dude if I can sleep with her? Fucking ridiculous.

JasonP: Yeah it sucks man, but I mean, they're his now. It'd be like borrowing someone's car without asking. Just not cool.

DaveDaGamer: Anyone else feel weird about actually contacting this guy though? Like, I want to ask permission, but also don't want to bother him with trivial shit.

LoneWolf45: I heard he's in Europe somewhere. My girlfriend said she felt a pull toward the east when she woke up this morning.

BanterKing: Nah man, my wife is convinced he's in North America. West Coast vibes, she said.

They were looking for me, but they had no idea where to start. Some thought I was in Europe, others in Asia, still others in South America. They were coordinating search efforts, pooling information, even creating maps of possible locations based on women's "feelings" about where their owner might be.

But none of them were even close. And none of them seemed to realize how utterly bizarre this whole situation was. They were treating it like a particularly challenging alternate reality game or a global scavenger hunt.

I sat back in my chair, a cold feeling settling in my stomach. The world had changed overnight, and I was apparently at the center of it. But the world itself didn't seem to think this was particularly important or worthy of investigation. It was just… the new normal.