AG Brief

"AG Brief" stands for "Altered Genesis Brief," which are short pieces set in the wonderful world of DorineHighcoven's Femme-dominated future. I hope to post a few of these as we go along. My heartfelt thanks go to that visionary Literotica author for her help, approval, and inspiration.

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Gabe, the gorgeous young male in his virginal white wedlock suit knelt before Diana, his matron and guide, his beloved mistress in Dibella. He lowered his gaze before her superior power and position, and if he opened his eyes while kneeling there, would surely have seen the visual evidence as his cock spasmed against his tight leggings. He felt all the attention of the moment -- and his unruly cock jumped within its confines, as though straining to stretch free of the sterling silver cage to honour the mistress who'd claimed it. The chance that any of the attendees could see the subtle clenching was quite small, but you never know. Every feminine eye in the temple was fixed on the captivating prize and if the boy moved a muscle, they would see it. However, the prize belonged to Diana alone. She gazed at him fondly, and every femme in the temple knew that the larger share of her gaze was pure lust.

And why wouldn't it be? Gabe was so shapely and beautiful -- a virgin being offered to his mistress under Dibella's holy design for femme pleasure and longevity. His sexy, revealing wedlock suit contrasted perfectly with the honeyed tint of his skin. Although it covered his torso -- but tightly, deliciously -- it left one shapely shoulder bare to the world, accentuating his submission and vulnerability. His slippers with the low heel matched the outfit, and added a soft, dependent allure.

At the end of their solemn ceremony, they stood together and faced the assembled crowd of femme. Diana held his hand and smiled at him and at the congregation. On a whim she raised his hand up high, above his head, and the attendees broke into spontaneous cheering and applause. The applause carried the wedlocked couple as they strode triumphantly to the waiting limousine. Oh, the pleasures they would achieve, the delectable heights of Dibella's blessings that would be theirs in the consummating.

This union was certainly made in Dibellan heaven, but it nearly didn't happen. To see this story unfold from its beginning, we have to go back several weeks, to a less-than-rewarding morning for Diana AspenGlen, a faculty department chair at the University of Chicago. Her first husband, Ari, faltered; in fact, he had that morning annoyingly declined to perform a key husbandly duty.

Let's go back and imagine the morning of that fateful day:

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Diana stretched her portly body, waking up her arms and legs, stretched her back. Her deep breath morphed into a yawn as she curled onto her side and faced Ari, her 35 year-old husband of twelve years. They both slept naked, and her pendulous breasts fell together as she rolled over to face him. She knew he was awake, but he kept his back to her. This disappointed her, but unfortunately did not surprise her.

Hopeful of starting the day well, she gave him a cheery "Good morning, sunshine!" This elicited a non-committal grunt from Ari -- it was better than nothing.

He took his time turning over to face her. "Hey," he said, in a neutral tone, and sighed. "You sleep okay?" he asked.

"I did all right," she said, "how about you?"

"Eh," was his listless, noncommittal response. He sighed again. "I suppose you'd like your early morning treatment."

They'd established a tradition -- actually, Diana had laid down the law -- by which, first thing each morning, Ari would make love to her with his lips and tongue. For years Ari performed wonderfully, apparently relishing his role. But lately he'd started asking whether she wanted it, as he had done this morning. It infuriated her -- not only was the question unnecessary, but it was damn disrespectful. Diana took it as an insult -- it indicated he'd rather not. The trouble was, she'd secretly begun receiving the brand-new genetic enhancement treatments last month, and they were beginning to take effect: she noticed she'd begun to feel more consistently horny, and she found she especially wanted an orgasm first thing in the morning. She contained her temper pretty well, she thought, and for now kept a lid on the building anger. She knew she would vent it full fury if he kept it up though.

"You never used to ask if I wanted it," she said. "It's a damn silly question anyway... Is it such a chore now? You really used to like it."

Ari sighed again. "It isn't that, it's just --" He moved his warm torso -- still so wonderfully toned! -- down along her leg and hugged her ponderous thigh against his body. Diana gasped at the thrill at the contact of his warm skin, felt him slide down her side and against the hairs of her leg; she spread her legs to him. He placed his face at her vulva -- she was already wet -- Goddess knows she really wanted it. Ari, though, started with unenthusiastic licks, awkward, poorly timed, and desultory. She pushed herself against his face, seeking his focus, but this just seemed to turn him off. He backed away a bit; his licking slacked off, slowed down to almost nothing.

"Ari, what's wrong?"

Yet another sigh. "I don't know... it's just not... it seems like you've been taking me for granted... for a while now."

Annoyed, she clicked her tongue. "I don't have time for this," she said, pushing him away. "I've got the big end-of-term assembly with the department today -- I'm the Chairfemme, I have to conduct the whole thing -- I could have used a little relaxation, a little attention!" She hoisted her rotund, fat-dimpled body out of bed and strode to the bath.

An hour later she was settled in her chauffeur-driven car, and she worked to get past her poor humor. When the thought occurred to her, she almost asked the driver to park somewhere, darken the windows, and come into the back seat and bring her off with his mouth. But... she'd dressed carefully, and also didn't have the time to spare that morning.

It helped that she enjoyed these department mini-conventions at the end of the academic year. As the Chairfemme of the Language and Signs Department at the university, she could look back on a very successful year of scholarly research into the Dibellan scriptures, of the awards conferred on the school by the church, and particularly (although she'd only mention them in passing today) the grants and funding patronage that came with them.

The late spring day was already warm and humid, with thundershowers in the forecast. The city bustled under heavy cloud cover; she could see the deluge would come, she just didn't know when.

The nearer she got to the campus, the more her anticipation of the event lightened her mood. Emerging from her limousine, she confidently crossed the concrete expanse in front of Capen Lecture Hall. She was ready. The department assembled in a medium-size auditorium -- faculty, incoming graduate students, and a few hand-picked research femme -- it was not a big crowd and didn't nearly fill the space. Graduation was in two days' time; Chairfemme Diana AspenGlen liked to "assemble the troops," and give them that feeling of camaraderie that made for a cohesive unit. The atmosphere in the larger-than-necessary lecture hall was always so festive; students -- especially those who were going on to post-graduate study -- and faculty all felt the thrill of imminent summer vacation.

Diana convened the assembly with a moment of silent thanks to Dibella for, as she said, granting the wisdom to follow her holy word to everlasting joy and comfort, and requesting the courage to draw those still outside the fold to understand Dibella's saving words. She proceeded to a roll call of distinguished research femmes, of which the University had the second most of any college in the UN, and she wouldn't dignify that other college by saying its name. And she coughed and the middle of coughing, she grunted -- "Harvard!" -- to the uproarious laughter of those present. She mentioned her ongoing thrill of pride while citing the contribution of a couple of the distinguished professors whose embellishments to Dibellan scholarship had added to the prestige of the program and attracted plum private bequests and generous government research grants. She named and congratulated the post-doctoral students for their promise, and wished them well. And before anyone knew it, the convocation was over. Amid happy conversations and fond farewells, the femmes in the smallish crowd started to gather their things to leave. Fifteen minutes later, the last stragglers in the lobby finished their visits with her and finally opened their umbrellas and headed out. The threatened rain was now pouring down.

As she picked up her own umbrella and began to cross the lobby to the door, another entry door some yards away flew open and someone lunged in. It looked to be a male from his height and slight build, although it was hard to tell since he stood just inside the door, bent over, hands on his knees. The department chairfemme could see this person had been running and was catching their breath, which made sense, coming in out of the rain.

He stood up abruptly and headed for the only restroom that catered to males, a unisex facility in the far right corner of the lobby. He wore an ill-fitting short sleeve sweatshirt and matching pants. They were well and truly soaked. His height was normal for his sex; as she looked him over, his hair, which was dripping and plastered to his head, and his loose, sloppy clothing made her think there was potential there. The clothes managed to be soaking and baggy at the same time. But the professor had an eye for boys, like all femme her age, and she could see he was quite slender and fit. One doesn't see many unaccompanied young adult males out and about, even in a city the size of Chicago.

Diana walked directly in on him among the restroom's tiled walls and mirrors. He had a paper towel to his soaking hair. He gasped and froze; his eyes spoke of fear and desperation at being found out. If he'd been looking for privacy, she took it away from him. She felt powerful, and deeply curious.

She stood directly in front of the door. His eyes had a bright blue tint and it looked like his hair might be sandy colored. She looked at his forearms as he held the paper towels to his hair. With his eyes on her, he backed up a step, into a stall door. It swung open slightly.

"Hello," she said, dragging out the second syllable. "Who might you be?"

He looked past her at the door. He stopped his drying effort and sighed deeply. After another moment he said, "If I tell you, I'll be in trouble." Looking down, he halfheartedly blotted some water off his shirt. Finally he dropped his arm; it hung limp. He stared down into a sink.

"Well," Diana said, "that tells me you're already in trouble. Have you run away from somewhere? Is someone looking for you? The police perhaps?"

"No... the police aren't looking for me," he said. He sighed deeply, still gazing at the sink. "At least I don't think they are."

Diana pulled out a few paper towels and stood next to the young male. She started to press them against his back to soak up the water. She said, "You don'tthinkthey are?" She pulled him tightly against her and continued to blot at the moisture on his back. As she held him he arched his back stiffly and looked away. But he found he was looking in a mirror and all he could see was an expensive-looking gown that seemed too formal for the noon hour.

He tried to pivot away against her hold, but found he was just heading into a toilet stall. He stopped, but kept his head turned from her.

She said, "That doesn't sound very encouraging. Where do you live?" Still holding on to him, she retrieved a few more paper towels to try to soak up the moisture in his sweat pants. Actually the pants looked ready to fall off him. They were wet, and far too big. She noticed he was holding them up with one hand.

"I --" He sighed again. "I'm staying with my aunt in her apartment near Wabash... but --"

She continued holding him and looking down at the top of his head; her blotting with paper towels became secondary. Diana was getting a thrill from this close contact. More than she'd had in a long time.

She prompted him: "But?"

His series of sighs continued. Under his breath he said, "It's a long story."

"A story I'd very much like to hear," she said brightly.

He looked at her in near panic. "I don't --"

She interrupted him: "Young male!" Sternly she looked down at him. "From where I stand, you're in no position to hesitate, or think, or go anywhere in these clothes. I can't in good conscience just let you loose on the streets of Chicago. Now, you'll accept my help" -- she looked him quickly up and down -- "dressing you, feeding you, and perhaps letting me advise you, before you make your next move!"

He looked up at her in surprise. It seemed to dawn on him just now that he'd tested her patience. "I -- I'm sorry. I... I don't know if I want to go back..." In a despairing tone, he said, "I don't know what I should do."

"Well," she said, in a softer tone, "there's an excellent start. The Dibellan Scriptures say it perfectly: when one utters the eternal line, 'I don't know,' they have begun the road to wisdom. That's from the Book of Anne. Now how about we introduce ourselves? You first."

Still looking up at her, he took another deep breath and said, "My name's Gabe -- Gabriel Lustrefemme."

"Well," she said, offering her hand. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, Gabriel Lustrefemme. One of your forebears took a noblefemme name, I see."

He rapidly switched from holding his pants up to shaking her hand. "Hi."

She said, "And I'm Diana AspenGlen, Chairfemme of the Language and Signs Department here at the University."

He gazed up into her eyes and couldn't help uttering a soft, "Ohh...!"

She smirked at him. His reaction to her introduction quite gratified her. "Now let's get you dried off within reason." She took another handful of paper towels and handed some to him. "Let's get after these pants," she said. "I'll take care of the back, you tackle the front." With effort she squatted low, one arm around his legs and the other hand for dabbing the moisture. Just at the moment when he accidentally let his pants slip, she saw the metallic glint of what looked like a rather high-end cock cage. She stood and discarded her paper towels.

"That's as much as we can do here, I think," she said. "Come on. Let's find you something to wear."

"What?" he said. "You don't --"

"Oh, I insist!" she said. She wrapped her arm around him again and guided him through the lobby toward the exit. It was still raining, but they went out, and with her pulling him close against her bulk, they walked together under her umbrella. She shepherded him to her waiting car and they shared the back seat. She leaned forward and said, "Marc, take us to Prisms, would you please? Thank you."

Diana sat back and took another look at Gabe. His hair was nearly dry and showing the dirty-blond color Diana thought she'd noticed. She'd admired his forearms as he dried his clothes -- he had good muscle definition and not a hair was showing. His skin had a marvelous honeyed cast that Diana thought very attractive and a good complement to his hair color. With his bright blue eyes, she found him unusually attractive -- more than she could wish for, really -- and couldn't wait to upgrade his wardrobe.

A little agitated, Gabe said, "Ma'am -- you don't have to --"

"You say that, Gabe," she said, "but actually I think I do. I'm shocked by your adventure this morning, and I'm determined to do what I can to make sure you're safe. The first thing we're going to do is find you an outfit so that I can take you to get a meal."

"What?! You shouldn't --"

Diana cut him off. "Listen to me. Fifteen minutes ago you were gambling with your very life, wandering the streets of downtown Chicago. Why weren't you wearing your own clothes, by the way. Why is that?"

He shook his head slightly. "Long story," he said.

"That's a couple of stories you owe me," Diana said. "You got caught in a downpour, your dripping clothes are about to fall off, and you're miles from your temporary home. All those things add up to a very odd, difficult morning, so let me offer my help, please. I won't ask for anything in return, as Dibella is my witness. You've inspired an impulse in me to honour the Goddess's admonition to offer help to strangers in need. And in this case, just now, you need a couple of basics: food and clothing." To his sharp breath and crossed arms, she said, "Now sit quietly, Gabe. Please give me the gift of allowing me to help. If you're not comfortable with that, we'll call it a loan."

They arrived at the clothing store; Gabe walked around looking at the expensive, if a little racy, suits in their clever displays. His aunt's wrinkled sweats made him very self-conscious. There were shirts, leggings, flat shoes, shoes with heels, swimwear, more jackets than Gabe had ever seen in a store. Diana could tell he was spoiled for choice; he looked and touched and stared at the stunning variety and abundance.

She found the mistress sales clerk, and said, "We have to get him out of those wet clothes and dried off."

The salesfemme said, "Of course," and sent a clerk to fetch a towel. "You'll want to be alone with your young male, I'm sure." She walked a few paces away and took down a hanger with a pale two piece outfit. "I think this will suit him very well."

Diana didn't correct her about her relationship with Gabe, or her lack of one. In fact, the idea of owning Gabe thrilled her; it gave her a tingle down deep, and she knew her arousal was deepening. She walked Gabe into a changing stall and told him to strip out of the wet sweatsuit. After looking at her in shock a moment, he turned his back and took off the shirt. She took the towel to his back. She said, "Don't be shy now, Gabe. The pants too. I'll stay behind you if you want." She was just as happy, for the moment, to drink in the sight of his tapering back and gorgeous, round rear end. She patted it dry and moved down his legs. She cupped his ass cheeks through the towel, trying to keep her breathing silent. She said, "Put this outfit on, and the slippers, all right? I'll be outside."

When he emerged, he stunned her. The sales femme and her staff had chosen a pale tawny cutoff top that accentuated his skin tone perfectly. Barely covering his nipples, it left the skin of his entire captivating torso bare, perfect abs and all. The upper hem of the matching tapered leggings was so low it left his hips and pelvic muscles deliciously open to view. Diana audibly gasped. The same-color slippers added something -- maybe a domestic touch -- to the outfit. For just a little more eye candy, the slippers also came in a modest heel that accentuated a boy's shapely ass. The shop clerk had Gabe spin so Diana could see how his ass looked. Well -- besides the leggings just barely covering the crack of his rear end, it was just perfect in the flat slippers. In the heels -- Oh. My. Goddess!

Seeing Gabe dressed that way gave Diana a constriction in her chest -- she was overwhelmed by the palpable need to pounce on him! Her hands opened and closed into tight fists. She ached to pin him down and sit on his face for an hour, and then rip those leggings off and ride him until he couldn't think straight -- OH!

With Gabe back in the dressing room, Diana cleared her head, and settled her breathing. After experiencing that reaction, she would have to think about it in a quieter frame of mind; she certainly hadn't expected anything like that. Her sudden flow of wetness when she imagined forcing Gabe down and pinning him -- Stop! She had to stop... she had the clerk pick out an attractive, but clearly more modest, outfit to take him to lunch in. A pair of quality sky blue slacks -- showing his shape of course -- and a nice form-fitting white cotton shirt. She bought both outfits.