Back Alley Cats

Chapter 1 - Cat got your tongue?

Chapter 1 – Cat got your tongue?

New World Order, Decree 69th Section 1 of 2

~Of roosters and hens~

If you are born to cluck:

I. You must enlist the day after your first menstruation.

Transition includes, but is not limited to:

A. Orientation

B. Grooming

C. and Training

II. You do not work in the same island with your parents.

Considered a necessary pain to avoid:

A. Proximity

B. Emotions

C. and Influence

III. You are not to complain unless you desire to be exiled.

IV. A Madame’s word is the only word that matters.

V. You do not claim love unless death is desired.

Considered a subsection to avoid:

A. Preference

B. Ownership

C. and Freeloaders

If you are born to peck:

I. You are to visit our pubs each day to milk.

II. You are to visit our pubs each day to get milked.

III. You are to comply with subsections I and II, or recluse yourself to death.

New World Order, Decree 69th Section 2 of 2

~Of huddles and cuddles~

If you are with client:

I. You are given five minutes to prepare before a session.

Preparation includes, but is not limited to:

A. Tools

B. Costumes

C. and Client Review

II. You do as you are told.

Considered necessary to achieve:

A. Client Trust

B. Client Satisfaction

C. and Good Reviews

III. You are not to do other than what you are told.

Considered necessary to avoid:

A. Client Distrust

B. Client Dissatisfaction

C. and Bad Reviews

IV. A Client’s word is the only word that matters, in a session.

V. Proximity of the body is unavoidable.

VI. Proximity of the heart is unacceptable.

Considered a subsection to preserve:

A. Formalities

B. Professionalism

C. and Devotion to the Manifesto

If you are without client:

I. You are allowed to do any of the following:

A. Perform a Complete Body Check for visible nicks or cuts.

B. Perform muscle training, and body conditioning exercises.

C. Read prescribed paraphernalia in the Alley Cat Emporium.

D. Or eat from a prescribed list of foods to regain/maintain sustenance.

The best habits were the old ones. It all began in the Tomba della Fustigazione or the tomb of flogging in the late 6th Century B.C. The ritual sparked a chain of carnalities that further birthed crude ways to sate bodily pleasures and appetites. Power exchange as it was fondly called. It had been an exploit then, and now.

The old habits were the best ones, because it was easy to fall back on them. Man especially adored the most pleasurable conventions no matter how desecrating they appeared to be. Flogging, whipping, prostitution, domination, submission; all these cultural evils we had come to know, and secretly liked, were now a celebrated necessity.

Man needs s*x. This could never be farther from the truth, more so when banalities ended five decades ago when the world saw the Rupture.

The Rupture was an event that shook the Earth to its core. Just like a shooting star, it shone and faded in a matter of seconds. And when it did, the planet stopped. It started as a flicker from the sun. The glimmer swiftly became a tsunami of light, washing and enveloping the world. Humanity thought it was the second coming; hoping and praying that angels would descend from heaven above to bring us salvation. But they were wrong. Instead, light broke the Earth and fanned the flames of extinction.

The episode realigned the planets, causing Mother Earth to buckle and move a few steps back. Astronomers, what is left of them anyway, believed that Mars really was inhabitable, especially now that it got nudged off its fourth ring. Mercury and Venus were shattered and had now become gossamer sheets of cosmos, thick enough to shield us from the harsh Helios.

What happened was eerily serendipitous. No one could have predicted it. Not even the Mayans. It would explain why the universe placed us in the fourth ring, where the red planet used to be. Gaia could have ended like her sisters if it were any closer.

What occurred was an unwelcomed milestone. It impacted the heart of our planet. Its body came apart. Continents were reduced to rubble. Technology receded to its bare minimum. Growth was stunted. We became static. We lost hope. Now what we are left with were islands. And I am in one of them.

A lot of diseases and newfound strains plagued the scene. For the very few that were left, there was nothing more alarming than the prospect of complete annihilation as the men began to shrivel and die. Shortly our numbers thinned. Copulation could not catch up with mortality. It was a very tight race.

The theoretical physicists, doctors, and microbiologists did what they could to chase after what little time we had left. Their efforts bore fruit, but it was not fruit without decay. The solution was only temporary. They are yet to find out more. They are yet to discover a permanent cure.

Conclusive evidences stipulated that cosmic radiation triggered a hormonal imbalance in men at a cellular level. If they were to live, they had to “come” daily, easy enough, as well as be fed with a woman’s “essence”. The findings led us to where we are now – a world of kinky fuckery.

There is one particular hostelry in Goldenpond Island called the Back Alley Cats Pub that offers such debauchery. Each playhouse, in every island, is manned by a woman – a Madame. And at the top of the whoring food chain is Madame Moreau Verseilles, headmistress of the Back Alley Cats. She has served men and kept her legs open half her life. She is now retired.

Her dearest cohorts, colleagues, manservants, and wenches call her Madame Moreau or M. However, you are to reduce her name to a letter only if you have known her dearly. New recruits dare not call her the letter if they value what is between their legs.

The BAC Pub or “p***y Pub” as men would distastefully call it is one of very few if not the best club out there. It is a grand estate, a palace, but mostly a home to several whorehouses, overseen by Madame Moreau. It also houses various political factions, ruled by High Regent Harkidte Setkas.

Moreau’s methods are classic, innovative, extreme, and whimsical. Membership offers access to a great range of tools, and girls –

Wares include Chains, Ball Gags, Jiggle Balls, Paddles, n****e Clamps, Bondage Scarves, Thrusting Rabbits, Cuffs, Plugs, Crops, Whips, Flogs, Body Tape, Love Eggs, and Spreader Bars, all the way to St. Andrews Cross … just to name a few.

Wenches include golden girls, ice blonds, sultry brunettes, redheads, and auburn heads … the works. The cats do what they can to line their pockets, but do nothing to fill their hearts, unless death is desired as stipulated in Decree 69th Section 1 of 2.

Many seek the brothel for solace. Ruined men, abused women, and minors; they have all lived here. Add the long list of body mod enthusiasts, latex or rubber aficionados, and middle-aged kinky f***s – the Back Alley Cats does and service them all. And they make them come, again, and again, and again. Oh boy they do.

Care to join them? They promise to make you come, and milk you to your last drop. Cat got your tongue? Purrfect…