The Imperia Guild

Amity believes women should have fantasies but it’s better when they make their fantasies real.

Amity Harris

Femdom fantasies become real at the Imperia Guild

The Imperia Guild, where Femdom Fantasies become real – Prologue

THERE WAS NO sign on the door or number on the mailbox at the new house that was built in the definition of the middle of nowhere. A narrow, unpaved road was the only way to drive there so the construction crew slept in tents on the property’s perimeter. A row of camp toilets took care of those needs and they ate pre-packaged food. Laundry was minimal; after all, it was summer; the sun’s warmth eliminated the need for clothing except heavy socks for the workers’ boots. Their comfort wasn’t important. Finishing on time was what mattered.

Equipment was trucked in three times by a parade of semis one at a time. The crew worked from sunup to sundown with the foreman barking out how much time they had left every few hours. He had his orders and knew what would happen if he didn’t meet the owners’ schedule. His ass still bore remnants of his only failure to meet a deadline and he was not going to miss another.

Once a week, the lights on the helipad flashed to signal the arrival of one of the owners. When a helicopter landed, all work stopped and the crew dropped to their knees in a straight line. Women—they never knew how many and the workers knew better than to look—toured the site with the foreman tapping their criticisms and changes into his tablet.

The crew tensed when the women finished their inspections. It meant they were next. The owners weren’t there only to see if the build was on time.

Women shipped the men they bought from all over the country to work on the project. They had to have construction skills, of course, but the women who sent them had another motive. If the men were lucky and talented enough to entertain clients or take care of the completed building’s various needs, they might leave them there to be household workers or to be rented. Or both.

After surveying their work, the women reviewed the crew.

It meant they’d be weighed, measured everywhere and put through a series of tests that would determine their futures. Nothing escaped the women’s attention. They looked inside their mouths for dental problems, erection speed, how hard they got when stimulated, muscle development, arm and leg strength and last, their endurance. It was exhausting for the workers but when the women were finished, they boarded the helicopter and left. Until next week.

That’s why the foreman was so adamant about their three-times-a-day physical fitness workouts and skills training. Every worker had a talent that each owner wanted to rent to her clients but whatever this new construction was, it required more than just talent.

The workers didn’t know exactly what that mysterious quality was but they were determined to be chosen so they toiled every hour of every day to make themselves more enticing to the women.

When the sun went down, the real work started.

The first night they were there, they were taught to lubricate their own asses, then show the results to a camera. That went on for hours because every man failed, according to the voice in their headsets. They added more lube, more fingers deeper in their asses and finally moaned out loud when they were told to do it again. The next night was worse. They had to do the same thing but this time to another man, show his ass to the camera and suffer the voice’s reproaches. Then they did it again and again until the voice said they got it right.

It never stopped. They suffered through a week of after-work mouth exercises that started with an array of electronic penises they had to suck to erection and ended with a skills test to see which men could suck them all to orgasm. For three consecutive nights they did the same thing to programmed vaginas until they could satisfy whoever was on the other end of the camera. They spent hours wearing clips that tortured their nipples with the threat of having to wear them all day if they didn’t get it right.

Several weeks into the build, the work to widen their asses started. They learned how to install expanders into each other’s asses with the remote voice rating them either pass or fail. They all failed the first two nights and that’s when they learned that the cages their cocks and balls were locked in had a malicious purpose.

Each time the mysterious voice announced that one man failed, he dropped to the ground and screamed wildly until they were all thrashing and shrieking from the pain the cages delivered. The voice made it clear they were incompetent and to reinforce its point, the foreman had to choose which worker was to lose one testicle as group punishment if the crew didn’t get the expanders working properly next time.

When the cages contracted around their testicles, every man realized how the women would do it. They didn’t even have to be there. They could make their balls rot and fall off from wherever they were. They knew the owners were busy with important work and didn’t have time to spend cutting off their balls. The cages would take care of it for them.

Four weeks into the build with hours and hours of nighttime work, every worker excelled at the skills they were taught. They labored incessantly without breaks all day and looked forward to the nights so they could prove to the camera that they were worthy of being selected even though they had no idea what they’d be chosen to do. Or to be.

For the workers, it was all about what the voice said. And keeping their balls attached.

The main building went up in ten weeks; the smaller ones were done two weeks later. When the last convoy arrived with the appliances, bath fixtures and a pair of decorators, they were greeted by a lineup of beefy workers.

They were wearing work boots. And nothing else.