New World Order - Chapter 2

It had only been a few days since the takeover, but evidence of the patriarchy’s presence was already visible on the streets. It was mostly little things that Ella noticed as she strode down the high-street, heading into town. People’s outfits had changed subtly. The men looked generally better dressed; there were more suits and ties, more chinos and smart shoes and well-groomed hair. When it came to the women, however, there seemed to be an increase in both the sexy and the childish. Ella saw plenty of boobs jostling openly in their bras despite the chilliness of the day, exposed by low cut tops, and several skirts were so short than every gust of wind exposed their owner’s panties for all to see. But despite how revealing the outfits were, many of them were also downright babyish. Ella noticed one woman, surely in her mid-thirties, whose shirt, which featured a plunging neckline, was patterned with smiling Disney princesses. Another girl’s miniskirt was so pink, puffy, and frilly that it looked more like a tutu than anything else, and when a breeze lifted the hem, Ella could see clearly the Care Bear designs on her undies.

Judging by the grumpy looks on many of the women’s faces, it didn’t seem as though they’d had much input into how they’d been dressed that morning, and Ella suddenly felt very grateful for her skinny jeans, beige jumper, and heeled boots. She’d been a little surprised that John had allowed her out at all, especially since it was to meet up with her most stridently feminist friend. His only condition was that she was to be back within the hour. Come home soon, okay baby girl? Otherwise Daddy will worry about you. Unbidden, Ella’s tummy fluttered pleasantly at the memory of his words. She scowled to herself. She ought to be feeling belittled by his condescending attitude, not touched at his concern!

“Ella!” a voice called, and Ella looked ahead to see Miranda waving at her.

“Hi!’ she called back, hurrying over. She was relieved to see that her friend was dressed normally in leggings and a long, knee-length black coat. “How have you been?” she asked anxiously. Miranda didn’t have a boyfriend, and her father had never been in the picture, so Ella had been worried she’d end up carted off to live with some random man as her guardian.

“Could be worse,” said Miranda, a little evasively. Her eyes scanned Ella’s outfit up and down. “I’ll tell you over coffee. Shall we get going?”

Ella nodded, and the two of them set off back along the high-street, heading for their favourite coffee shop.

“So what’s it like being a stay-at-home girlfriend to a member of the Party?” Miranda asked.

“It’s been so boring,” said Ella, although in truth there was a tiny part of her that was relieved not to be worrying about essays and seminars and funding every day. “All I do is make dinner and do the laundry, that sort of stuff.”

“It’s not fair,” Miranda said angrily. “You’re one of the smartest people I know, and your tyrant of a boyfriend has you cooking and cleaning like some dumb housewife.” She looked at Ella sternly. “I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’, Ella, but I did warn you about him from the start.”

“He’s not that bad,” said Ella, frowning.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to defend him!” said Miranda, looking disgusted.

“No!” Ella said at once, her face reddening. “I just mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

“He writes propaganda for them, Ella. Don’t forget that. He’s the enemy.”

“I know.”

“Didn’t you see what happened to Angela Smith? John would be quite happy for you to end up like that too. Do you want to be his baby doll? Do you want to do his housework and suck his cock and call him Daddy?”

Ella’s pussy moistened. “Of course not!” she said fiercely, blushing to the roots of her hair. “I’d never let that happen!”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You haven’t been intimate with him since the takeover, have you?”

“No!” said Ella. It was sort of true. There was no doubt that their relationship was under some serious strain since the night of the election. She’d been treating John coldly, never engaging him in conversation, and if he asked her a question she’d just give a one word reply and go back to whatever she was doing. Mostly she just went about the house doing her chores with a sour look on her face. But as to physical intimacy, that was another matter. Miranda didn’t need to know that she and John had been fucking three times a day. After all, just because she was getting her sexual needs met didn’t mean she liked their new relationship dynamic. She didn’t like it, Ella told herself firmly, even if it sometimes seemed as though the spot between her legs had other ideas.

Thankfully Miranda looked satisfied. They entered the coffee shop together, and Ella noticed immediately that the usual young barista was gone, replaced with a busty, middle-aged woman. They headed up to the counter, and she smiled at them broadly.

“Hi there, cutiepies,” she cooed, in a sickeningly sweet voice that turned Ella’s stomach. “What can I get you today? Would you like some milkies?”

For a moment, the two young ladies stared at her in shock. Then Miranda scowled. “Two Americanos,” she said.

“Are you sure, sweetie?” The woman cocked her head, still smiling. “Coffee can make you get all jittery, you know. I can warm up some nummy milky for you in no time! Wouldn’t you rather have that?”

“We’re not two years old,” Miranda snapped.

The barista seemed totally unperturbed by Miranda’s attitude. She simply tittered to herself. “Coffee it is then! I can see someone’s a grumpy girl without it!”

Miranda’s face reddened and she clenched her fists, but before she could give a retort, Ella handed over some cash and the lady got to work making their drinks. It felt odd not paying with her card like she normally did, but since her bank accounts had been transferred over to John she’d lost all access to them. She’d been forced to ask him for money before heading out, like a little girl begging for an advance on her allowance.

“There you go, sweeties,” the barista cooed after a minute or two, handing them their drinks and beaming indulgently.

They took the Americanos with cold expressions on their faces, and headed for an empty table. Ella hung her jacket off the back of a chair, and winced a little as she sat down – John hadn’t taken her over his knee since that first night, but her bottom still felt sore. Thankfully Miranda was too busy glowering at the barista to notice. “Fucking gender traitor,” she hissed, as she took her seat.

“I still can’t believe how many women voted for those lunatics,” said Ella, taking a sip of her coffee. “What were they thinking?”

“They probably get off on it,” Miranda sneered. “I bet that dumb cow at the counter has her hand down her pants the moment she gets home.”

Ella rubbed her thighs together guiltily. “Anyway,” she said, steering the conversation elsewhere, “you said you were going to tell me what’s been going on with you. Are you living with extended family? Or…” she lowered her voice to an excited whisper, “You’re not living on your own, are you?”

“No,” said Miranda, shortly. She took a long gulp from her coffee, her eyes fixed on the table.

“Who then?” Ella asked. She paused. “Wait… Don’t tell me it’s…” She was looking at her friend with mounting horror.

Miranda glanced up and nodded grimly.

“Not your stepdad?!”

“Technically he counts as my closest male relative,” Miranda said bitterly, “so now he’s my legal guardian. I was made to move into his apartment right after the government kicked me out of mine. That was the day after the election.”

Ella had only met Miranda’s stepfather once. He’d spent the whole encounter leering at her breasts, and making comments to Miranda about how she ought to “invest in some bigger knockers to impress the boys”. Miranda’s mother had never had good taste in men – she’d passed away a couple of years back, and as far as Ella was aware, Miranda hadn’t had any contact with her stepfather since then. He’d been in her life for less than a year.

“Oh Miranda, I’m sorry…”

“Tell me about it,” said Miranda. “He’s such a creep! He keeps putting his hand on my bum, and calling me ‘baby girl’. Stuff like that. Yesterday, he barged into the bathroom while I was on the toilet and started talking to me while I was in the middle of peeing!”

Ella wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That’s so gross!” she said. “But he hasn’t… you know… done anything else to you?”

“No,” said Miranda. She hesitated for a moment. “I don’t think he would. I get the impression he wants me to come on to him.”

“What?!”

“I know, right? He’s out of his fucking mind.”

Ella took a long draught of her Americano, vaguely aware, in the back of her mind, of a growing need to visit the toilet. But there was no rush yet.

“Miranda,” she said, “don’t you want to take your coat off? It’s pretty hot in here.”

Miranda blushed. “No thanks,” she said.

Ella frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“Hmm? Nothing.”

“Come on, girl, you can tell me,” Ella said coaxingly. “What’s up?”

Miranda was avoiding her eyes. “I… I had to wear… My stepdad…” Miranda took a deep breath. “He got rid of most of my clothes.”

Ella’s eyes widened. “What, you mean you’re naked under…?”

“No, no,” Miranda said quickly. Her face was scarlet. “He got me new ones. It’s just they’re a bit… a bit...” She looked around, then unzipped her coat so that Ella could see what was underneath. Stretched across her modest chest was a skimpy t-shirt – there was a martini glass design on the front, above the words “I NEED A STIFF ONE”.

“This is actually one of the least embarrassing ones,” said Miranda, hurriedly zipping up her coat and glancing around to make sure nobody had spotted her shirt. “At least it’s not bright pink and covered in sequins,” she added, contemptuously.

“That asshole!” said Ella, knowing that slutty clothes like that were the kind Miranda hated most. She took another big gulp of her Americano, and squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. The need to pee seemed to be coming on much faster than usual. “I’m just going to go to the ladies’ room,” she said suddenly. “I won’t be a minute.”

Miranda had just finished draining her cup. “I’ll come too,” she said. “That coffee’s gone right through me.”

The two of them headed over to the toilets, but when they tried the door, they found it locked tightly shut. Ella felt a spasm from her bladder and had to fight the urge to clamp down on her crotch with her hands. What was the matter with her? She looked around for a staff member, but the big-breasted barista was the only one in the room.

“Excuse me!” Miranda called. “The ladies’ room is locked! Can open it for us?”

“Awww, sorry sweetie,” the woman said, walking over from behind the counter and pulling a sad face. “The little girl’s room is having some refurnishing done at the moment, so I’m afraid it’s out of order.”

“What?!” Ella exclaimed. “Then where can we go?” She was shifting from one foot to the other in the beginnings of a potty dance.

“You’ll just have to hold it, honey,” said the woman, her eyes glittering. “You’re big girls, aren’t you?”

“What about the staff toilets?” Miranda demanded.

“I’m afraid that’s only for the ladies who work here, little missy,” the barista said, winking.

“That’s ridiculous!” said Miranda. “Just let us use it!” She too was starting to squirm on the spot.

“What was it you said to me?” the woman asked, putting a finger to her chin and looking off thoughtfully into space. “You’re not a two-year-old.” She smiled broadly. “So I’m sure you won’t wet your pants like one, will you?”

“Fuck you!” Miranda snarled.

The barista tittered again. “Don’t get cranky now, sweetie, or I’ll have to smack your bottom!”

Miranda grabbed Ella by the arm and marched her out of the shop. The two girls hurried down the street as fast as they could. Ella’s need to pee was growing stronger and stronger by the second. She was pressing her hands against her crotch now, and her knees kept bending inwards as she fought to control herself, forcing her to walk with a ridiculous toddle. It had been years since she’d felt like this, as though she were right on the verge of having an accident. People pointed and laughed as they tottered along like a couple of overgrown three-year-olds. Ella’s house was only about ten minutes from the centre of town, but it seemed to take an agonisingly long time to make any progress.

“That bitch in the coffee shop…” Miranda seethed, clutching desperately between her legs, her face burning red with humiliation. “She must have spiked our drinks!”

Ella felt a small spurt of pee enter her undies, and tears stung her eyes. There was another spurt, then another, until it felt like every step she took was adding more wetness to her knickers. Then it was finally too much. Ella let out a quiet sob as her bladder gave in, and warm wetness blossomed in her underwear. Pee soaked through her pants at once and started streaming down her legs, staining her jeans and forming a large puddle beneath her. She stood still while it happened, looking down at herself in disbelief. She was a twenty-four-year-old woman, and here she was wetting herself like a toddler, standing in a growing puddle of her own pee-pee like a silly little girl who wasn’t quite ready to be out of nappies. She looked up and saw Miranda gazing at her in horror. For a moment, her bottom lip trembled. Then she burst into tears.