You're allowed to become a proper

Your uniform safely removed, you were able to relax. It never felt quite right on your body. Sure, you would wear it when you were actively being seen by actual Committee members or other government officials, but otherwise you preferred to wear what Arturo allowed.

Completely naked, you take a moment to admire the small tattoo on your left collarbone. It was a stylized mark in simple black ink: L7.

All local women bore the mark. Arturo had been very amused when you begged him to let you have one. The man had been rightfully suspicious of you when you'd first reported to Laconia Seven as a representative of the Universal Egalitarian Commission, armed with the power to cripple his global economy and tasked with destroying everything he stood for. It has been a cold reception, but you eventually managed to convince him of your good intentions and sincerity.

Tattoos were exceedingly uncommon for government officers. It would have been a scandal if anyone discovered you'd been branded with the L7 mark, like common livestock.

Touching the mark, you felt a thrill. That mark was a promise between you and Arturo. Despite being an offworlder, you bore the mark of his women. Willingly, knowing exactly what it meant.

In turn, despite being a UEC Chairwoman, Arturo let you get it, knowing that a whole inquisition would come down on his planet if anyone, any one soul in your circles, discovered the ****-mark. There would be no way to hide the truth of your corruption and misinformation from even a cursory investigation. You'd be deposed and imprisoned, and the precious culture of Laconia Seven would be systemically murdered.

The tattoo was a sign of your bond of trust and loyalty. You and Arturo were co-conspirators in this. It had killed you when he flat-out refused to entertain your wish to become a **** on his planet.

"No. You're too important. Everything hinges on your success, Candy. When you finish lifting these sanctions, and approve of our social rehabilitation progress... then I will allow it. Not before. You need to stay focused."

You pointed out the veritable army of ****-women you'd helped train to serve as a smokescreen to the UEC. Women who, like you, believed in what you were doing, who upheld the virtue of female submission to men. It took a whole army to generate false reports and documents enough to mask an entire planet's activities, and creating it was your proudest accomplishment. He dismissed your argument since all of their work could be done by any of them, but your work could only be done by you, personally.

So, you worked. Tirelessly. Obediently. It should have been impossible, what you managed to do. To convince Gloria Feston that slavery had been banned, all slaves freed, that government funds had established massive support networks for the previously-enslaved, that the entire legal and social system had been reworked to place women on an equal footing with men, and that all socioeconomic indicators for freedom and equality were trending upwards at acceptable rates. There were many obstacles, but you overcame each in turn.

You turned your eyes to your other tattoo. The UEC shield, roughly the size of your own fist and prominently displayed on your right forearm near your elbow. Arturo had **** you to get that one. It's the thing that kept all the men from touching you. It made you a pariah on the world you worked so hard to preserve. But it also allowed you access to anything and everything you desired, with no questions asked. All on Arturo's order.

But President Thrash had been absolutely correct. Your ability to walk freely through the world and see everything without anyone interrupting you had made you a better asset. Gave you everything you needed to accomplish your self-assigned mission. The entire world knew who you were. Many hated you, both men and women. Some men hated you because they couldn't stand the sight of you walking around like you owned the place, being dependent on you, a woman. To others, you were some kind of hero or saint.

It had been a bizarre few years.

But now it was over. You dressed in your usual clothes, another requirement Arturo had set for you: a simple short sleeved blouse, black knee-length pencil skirt, and simple black pumps with three and a half inch heels. No underwear at all. The color of the blouse varied from time to time, but was always some soft pastel color. You never liked the outfit, but you wore it every day. Your L7 mark was clearly visible through the blouse, however, and you enjoyed the way the blouse was always just a bit too small in the chest, drawing the thin material snug across your breasts, but the endless nipple stimulation you could have done without. At least, you liked the way the men looked at you, like dogs hungering for a piece of meat.

Exiting your office, your heart beat quickly in your chest in anticipation of what was next for you. You'd successfully lowered the political temperature surrounding Laconia Seven. You wouldn't have to show yourself to the government again for a full standard year as long as your regular reports came in on time.

You made your way to the orbital lift that would take you to the planet's surface, passing a room full of women at work terminals, working hard to lie about the fact that they're all slaves. You smiled, spotting a familiar redhead whose usually-pale cheeks were flushed with arousal. One of the women you'd come here with; a mid-level UEC officer. She hadn't originally liked the idea of being a ****, but after a few weeks of a strictly enforced hourly orgasm schedule, she gave up worrying about anything other than being a good girl. You were actually a bit jealous.

The lift guards grinned at you as you stepped inside. You'd seen them almost every day since you arrived and they'd never once so much as laid a finger on you. One of them—the meathead with a crooked nose—definitely hated you, but then you were pretty sure he hated all women, so you didn't take it personally.

As the doors closed, Meathead smiled for the first time, you're sure, in his entire life. "Get fucked, bitch," he said.

And then the lift dropped, hurtling you towards the planet in a carefully controlled fall. This was it. Arturo said you'd get your reward as soon as you returned to the planet. In just three short minutes, you'd be there. Your cheeks were warm with anticipation and desire, and your pussy was positively on fire. Fuck, you were so horny. You couldn't wait for the thing to touch down.