Woman Supreme

 “Femme Fatale is proud to announce our newest product; Mr. Stud! For years discerning women such as you have had but one problem, being unable to find a guy that can handle you!” The screen faded from a generic company logo to an enormously muscular amazon woman, rubbing her crotch in frustration as she looked down at a half dozen scrawny men half her height. “Well worry no more! By isolating the supreme female hormone we've been able to create the first superhuman formula capable of affecting the male biology!” 

 Rich stopped in his tracks, watching the screen. He had been running errands for his roommate and their girlfriends; but this actually sounded worth acknowledging. Maybe he could pick up a surprise on the way home. 

 “With Mr. Stud, your beloved boytoy can be upgraded from shrimp to pron,” the commercial displayed a shellfish dangling near one of the male's crotches tripling in size, a primetime workaround to make their actual intent clear, “But that's just the base model! Buy Mr. Stud deluxe and we can add in limitless sexual stamina, because everybody knows those delicate guys just can't last long enough.” 

 It was a cute idea, Rich noted, but he wasn't really THAT interested in this part. He thought his cock was probably big enough, or at least he didn't care that much that he was only four inches. The crowd slowly forming around him, though, they were licking their lips. Rich looked up, seeing several massive amazons ranging from about 8 to 10 feet surrounding him and watching the ad.   

 “But for the truly discerning, if even that isn't enough... we have Mr. Stud custom. Simply tune the formula with your own DNA – no mean feat, we know” the commercial showed a clip of a doctor shattering a scalpel on his nurse's massive bicep as she smirked at him... before motioning to tackle him and cutting away; a clip that prompted most of the audience to chuckle, “and your own personal stud will get two special treats. The first is the ability to be energized just from your pheromones, so you never have to worry about the usual headaches those flaky boys always complain about.” 

 By this point the amazons watching the advertisement had noticed Rich, and were visibly smirking down at him. Rich could feel his cheeks growing hot, but it would all be worth it if they just offered one thing... 

 “The second, and most interesting, is that it will rewire your boy's biology to produce our product! Tell him that of course you'll swallow – his treat, and then receive a much deserved one of your own when it cums with a Femme Fatale booster,” One of the amazons ate an oversized sausage that deliberately looked poorly CGIed on screen, before moaning and flexing as her chest and abs grew a half size. “Take a break, and let HIM enhance your femininity!” 

 The commercial clicked off. He knew he shouldn't, he REALLY knew he shouldn't. But Rich couldn't help himself. He opened his mouth as if to say something while looking up at the smirking faces looming over him... only for what he said to be immediately drowned out by raucous laughter aimed in his direction.   

 Rich kept his head down and walked away. It was always like this, and they knew it was always like this. Twenty years ago, the greatest biological discovery of all time had been found. A way to create genuine superhumans. Tall, strong, enduring beyond measure. Hell, get enough of the science behind it and you could even make bulletproof juggernauts. 

 But only out of women. Over the next ten years, the dynamic of the world changed massively. Women took over damn near every position of power. Men slowly went from leaders, to equals, to pets. And the worst part was how impossible it was to argue.   

 There were no more wars, because most hardware couldn't keep up with even a single soldier and most soldiers could take what they wanted better at home.   

 Technology and the economy progressed by leaps and bounds, because some lucky treated girls got super-intelligence to go with their other assets... and because the sheer AMOUNT of work that can be done when you don't tire and don't sleep makes a big difference. 

 On paper it all looked very amazing. 

 As long as you were female. 

 You know, the dominant sex. 

 They argued that man had ruled for long enough, and that 'fair' would be having to be property for a bit rather than just trying to say 'nah, let's do equality now.' They argued that it only made sense for the people better equipped to be in charge to be in charge.   

 They argued that they really were better. 

 And what got Rich, on those quiet nights alone, was that they were right. He was just worse. 

 This was the world he lived in now. 

 He was part of what he considered the last generation. Now in his mid to late thirties, he remembered growing up and thinking about how great he could be. He remembered going to law school surrounded by the first amazons made of trust fund kids and rich idiots... and how they still tested perfectly. He remembered a time when he thought he would be amazing.   

 He remembered the first time he saw a boy on the street obey his sister happily, remembered looking into his eyes and seeing not one whit of ambition or rebellion in the boy's soul... and being punched across the street by said sister just for his proximity; and act nobody debated. 

 This was his life.   

 He tried to focus on the positives, though, it wasn't all bad. He made a lot of money... for a guy. He had a roommate he got along with well. He even had a girlfriend. Not a good girlfriend, but at least one who was shorter than him and couldn't crush his skull.   

 Tina did not come from a wealthy family, and whatever other utopian nonsense the amazons insisted they had, turning woman into superwoman still cost quite a bit of money. 

That was at least partially why Tina was bothering to date him, since Rich doubted she had a bit of love anywhere in her heart, the belief that he'd eventually buy her way into the upper echelons of society. 

 Well, it was obvious by now that he wouldn't, and she still hadn't left him, so again – a positive to focus on.   

 Rich sighed and dragged his groceries back home, hoping his roommate Jay would be there alone to talk, only to freeze in horror as he approached the driveway. 

 A Femme Fatale truck was unloading on his lawn. One box was labeled Mr. Stud Custom, but their entire product line was slowly being piled on his driveway.   

 More than he could buy with his entire life savings in products with one purpose – to make woman supreme.