The marriage proposal

Today was the big day. No going back. Today he would propose to Jane and ask her to be his wife. He would get down on one knee, swear his everlasting devotion, ask to be hers. He would take out the precious box and open it and...

He thought about nothing else all day. The hours dragged. His nerves grew. It was 2025, only a few years since the startling rise to power of the Female First Party. When the election campaign started in 2019, no-one assumed the FFP would have a chance. They were not predicted to win a single seat. They were dismissed as a fringe, trivial political force. And then the campaign started, and every evening the voice of reason entered living rooms the length and breath of the country. Miss Lucy outlined her vision for a safer, kinder, more female-centred world. It was an enticing vision. Sensible. Desirable. The opinion polls began to turn. 5% support. 10% support. 15%. The first time the FPP took the lead in the polls there was consternation in the newspapers and on television. They can’t possible win, the pundits (all male) said. Its only a statistical blip. Men will prevail, as always.

The parliamentary majority of 124 was staggering. The country awoke next day, wondering what they had done.

You have done our country the greatest service you could ever give, Miss Lucy said on the steps of 10 Downing Street. A new age begins.

And John, today, thought of that new age. Part of him loved it. Part of him yearned for the old days, when he was a dominant male, where his testosterone gave him an immediate advantage in any social situation.

Jane looked stunning as she took his arm when they entered the restaurant. She must know what I’m planning, John thought. He pulled out her chair and she sat and waited until he pushed her into place. It was the biggest and best restaurant in town. It had to be here. This was the biggest moment in John’s life, the greatest gesture he would ever make. It was traditional, now, in the new era of female authority, that men made the ultimate gesture in this way.

They ate, and it was a beautiful meal, as always, but John couldn’t concentrate. Steve and Simon from work were there. And Dave from the football team. His aunt and uncle and nephews. As he looked around the restaurant John reckoned he knew about 40% of the people in it.

They were all going to see.

“I have something to ask you,” he said as they sipped their coffee at the end of the evening.

Jane smiled, a radiant smile, knowing, wise, understanding. “Yes?” she said.
She knows, John thought. And that thought made it easier. He looked around then rose from his chair and took Jane's hand. He bent down and rested on one knee. Silence descended as people saw what was unfolding.

“Jane,” he said. “Miss.” He swallowed. He took out the box from his pocket, and held it in front of her. “Miss,” he repeated, “would you grant me the greatest privilege of allowing myself to be married to you?”

He lowered his head, as was appropriate. He opened the box for her to the token of his love for her. He waited as the silence in the room continued. Finally, Jane spoke.

“Yes, John, you may become my husband.”

The room cheered. Everyone stood and clapped and waved. John looked round, at Steve and Simon, Dave, his aunt and uncle, everyone who knew him, everyone who knew what a male chauvinist he had once been. Just look at him now.

Jane took the box from his hand. She laid it on her palm and looked inside and smiled. She nodded. “Excellent choice,” she said. And she took the token of their forthcoming union from the box.

A chastity cage, gleaming in metal, beautifully small, perfectly turned. A lock sat with it, with a single key.

“With this cage, we now become engaged.” she said.

“Yes, Miss.”

“And you will become my husband.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“To honour and obey.”

“Yes, Miss.”

She rose and towered over him. “In that case, we will complete the ritual. For everyone to see.” She took his hand and pulled him up and he rose to his feet.

“Put it on,” she said. “Now.”

“Yes, Miss.”