I remember my co-worker Sarah screaming at me: "You want to go to Weltbeltein? Are you crazy?"

Ah, yes. The famous, secretive, wealthy little city-state of Weltbeltein, nestled in the heart of western Europe. No sane woman would want to go to Weltbeltein, a place famous for its gross, misogynistic rules that label a good chunk of its female population as "cattle", reducing them to slaves/prostitutes.
By looking on the right websites, you can find a few stolen pictures of Weltbeltein's streets. It looks pretty similar to what they have in some parts of some East Asian countries: half-naked, sexually available ladies roaming the streets. Nothing *too* shocking.
The big difference is that misogyny is law in Weltbeltein... and that law can also apply to female tourists, under certain conditions.

We landed in the early morning. I was the only woman on the foreign passport control line. John, the co-worker who was accompanying me on this trip, gave me a worried look as I was singled out for "foreign female processing".
He and I would be quarantined separately before we could properly enter the country. This would be the last time we'd see each other for two weeks.

A border agent asked me to remove my shoes and wait on a bed in a small, very modern and clean medical room. Weltbeltein was pretty famous for its cutting edge medical science. Shame it was mostly put in use to demean women.

They made me wait nearly an hour in the room. I was lying on the bed when the doctor, a man in his 40s, arrived.

"Miss Claire Dinka. Is that right?
-Yes.", I said, getting in a sitting position.

He seemed nice enough but didn't apologize for the wait. I suppose they don't have a lot of female foreigners to screen, so my guess is that he made the trip to the airport especially for me.

"Do you know how the laws work here in Weltbeltein?", he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, I know. You will assess my category.
-Precisely. Here, females are categorized as either ‘cattle’ or ‘female citizens’ upon reaching eighteen. Female Citizens are enjoying pretty much the same rights as other western countries. They can divorce, date, be independent, travel, have their own money etc. Everything you can do in US of A." He paused, smirking. I offered a weak smile, encouraging him to go on.

"Cattle are a different thing entirely in Weltbeltein. Do you know how exactly?
-Yeah. They're like... slaves."

I actually knew a lot more than that. I'd done my research before coming here, of course.
I knew that tourists classified as "cattle" (sometimes simply referred to as "women" in translations) would be subjected to specific laws and required to obey the man they entered the country with. They had to dress a certain way, couldn't travel alone in the street, couldn't drive, own properties, etc. I'd been to middle east countries, which supposedly has harsh rules for women, so I wasn't very troubled by what I've found.

The doctor simply nodded, apparently satisfied by my hesitant answer, and ordered me to strip naked to start my categorization.

I slid off my black slacks, unveiling my long, lean, pale legs that seemed to glow under the cold medical light. I unbuttoned my dark blue blouse, then my C-cup black bra to reveal my small-ish breasts with pink, almost nonexistent nipples.

"Good. Now the panties."

I looked at him, my blue eyes framed by my shoulder-length, wavy, brown hair and pleaded silently the doctor to let me keep my panties, but he failed to notice. Defeated, I wiggled on the bed to remove it, exposing my trimmed black pubic hair.

He asked me to weight myself. The short walk to the weighing scale was quite humiliating. I could really feel the doctor eyes on my bony, naked ass, and, once on the weight, to see the 55 displayed so blatantly. Here I was, me, entirely me, naked, under the watch of a doctor in one of the most misogynistic country of earth. But it was only the beginning.
He told me to stand tall in the middle of the room, to spread my legs and arm wide, exposing myself totally, and took different measurements as if he was some kind of perverted tailor. I can tell you with absolute certitude I'm almost 5'6" (or 170cm, for our European friends).

Then, back on the bed, examining my mouth, asking me to stick out my tongue to measure it. I obediently submitted to everything, a bit puzzled. 

The next step was a gynecological exam so he fixed to the bed some apparatus. Half of me wanted to protest but we were at it for over 40 minutes at this point and I already knew it was a mandatory part of the process so I bear with it. I pretended not to notice when he started taking picture of naked little me, my long legs in stirrups, pussy and ass exposed, then kneeling on the bed, face down.

***
Why was I doing all that, I remember asking myself. Only to get some sales. Was it really worth it?
I've been in this tech company for several years now. I entered at 25, climbed the corporate ladder and decided this Weltbeltein assignment could be my breakthrough. I've had the chance to meet one of the country's most influential tech moguls at a reception and felt a good connection with him.
So, when the opportunity to do business with him presented itself some months later, I immediately volunteered, to the surprise of everyone. If we could gain access to Weltbeltein's market, it would be huge.
This is a small country, but, like I said, with deep pockets and incredible tech.
***

So, I was letting the doctor take pictures of me. Besides, it was only a medical exam. I've done it before. Without any picture taking, though.

"Alright, now follow me for the mental assessment.", he finally said, giving me my panties and blouse back. "No, no, leave rest of your clothes here, just cover yourself up with that, follow me."

I followed him, feeling exposed, to an small adjacent corridor. It was padded in a soft carpet tingling the sensitive skin of my naked feet. A door led to a small booth with a single, sad, computer inside.

"Put the helmet on. Clip this on your index finger. Perfect. Now, answer the questions. Come back when you are finished."

It was a classical IQ test at first. I answered as best as I could, taking almost one hour. Then, a personality test, giving me several hypothetical situations and asking if I already encountered them and how did I/would I react.
The final test was a lot of personal questions. How many partners did I had? When was my first sexual experience ?
I was pretty numbed and tired from the first two tests so I answered honestly without thinking too much.

I knew exactly what they were doing. They were trying to classify me. Was I cattle or not? Will I have to submit to misogynistic rules or be free?
Ideally I'd prefer to be free of course, then I would meet the prospective client and tackle the deal myself. But in the event I would be classified as "cattle", it still wouldn't be SO bad. I would be assigned to John, who has been my assistant for several years now. He could handle the deal, meet the client, with me on his side as his... his... well... chaperonee... guiding him.

Did I ever kiss another girl?

John was a shy guy in his thirties, no doubt he wouldn't know what to do if he became my "owner" in Weltbeltein. That's also why I was so relaxed. I knew John wouldn't try anything weird. He wasn't this kind of guy. Plus, he knew that if he tried something, he would still have to answer to the US law when we would come back.

Did I prefer the pic of the handsome muscular guy on the left or the handsome fit, lean guy on the right?

The questions were becoming ridiculous.

Do I masturbate to porn? Erotic stories? What was my most common sexual fantasy? I tried to reply coldly, mechanically, but I can't deny the topics were getting me hot and flustered. Being half naked didn't help. I must confess that at one point, I was even squeezing my thighs together, horny as hell. In retrospect, I should've guess the results at that point already.

Finally done, I went back to the doctor who told me to undress and to climb back on the stirrups. I complied, red with shame, because I knew that he would see how aroused I was from the quiz.
He said nothing, just took some notes and asked me to put back my blouse and panties.

"Well, Miss Dinka... I don't have good news."

My heart sank.

"According to the physical and mental examination, you WILL be classified as cattle... as soon as you step in Weltbeltein's territory.
-Ok."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure you fully understand. Here, we have a document for cattle foreigners."

He gave me a leaflet explaining my new status and obligations that I read thoroughly. I learned more with this leaflet than 3 weeks scouting the internet trying to find information about the country.

Contrary to the common belief, this cast system wasn't introduced by men. The agenda was pushed 2 centuries ago by older, bitter women as a mean of controlling young, sluttier girls trying to steal their husbands. Hence the tests, checking how loose a woman was, and the laws to reduce the power of improper women. Those wives saw no problem if their husbands fucked whores, in fact, they welcomed it as a way to escape duty sex. What they didn't want was the husband covering some harlot in gifts, running away with her, divorcing to marry her or getting her pregnant.
So, at first, laws were passed to clearly identify women working as prostitutes. Prostitutes had their rights reduced : they became inferior citizens that could not get married, own anything etc.
It wasn't specific to Weltbeltein. A lot of European countries did the same around that time. In France for instance the prostitutes were branded with a lily flower tattoo and shunned by society, as recently as in the 18th century.
But this particular country went further. This special status would not be applied only to prostitutes but also as a punishment to ANY woman found guilty of trying to seduce someone's husband!

Finally, as technology progressed, preemptive testing was introduced for any women at the age of 18, checking how slutty she was, lowering her status BEFORE any seductive misdemeanor would have been committed. This idea of preemptive justice was very controversial at first but... it worked out. Let me explain a bit:
-to give everyone equal opportunities, every Weltbeltein girl would get an similar education until she turned 18.
-every woman had to take the test once a year.
-good girls from good families wouldn't usually fail the test.

The last point is important. Indeed, vast majority that failed were born from cattle. Daughters of cattle had around 90% chance of being labeled so themselves. It proved that sluttiness IS inheritable. Weltbeltein was unwillingly creating a lineage of sluts: the most promiscuous of each generation selected for the next, widening again the gap between proper female citizens and them. So there was almost no impact on proper female citizens. The only people impacted had nobody to defend them, as their father were usually nowhere to be found and their mothers not involved in their life either, busy with her sex-slave duties. Born from slut, raised by the state and branded as sluts when they failed the test. Nobody cared.

Yes, sometime, it happened: a woman from a good family would fail the test. In this very rare case, the family would get a good sum of compensation money from the government. And very wealthy family could even bribe the doctors to cheat the system, or have their daughter flee the country anyway.

And at least everybody had a chance right? Even daughters of cattle could sometime (rarely) pass the test and avoid being tagged.

So in general the test was seen as a GOOD thing. It worked. Proper women were minimally impacted (and if they were, it's because they were deserved it anyway), it was a good way for them to eliminate slutty competition and higher status woman escaped it completely. A perfect scheme.

This was this particular test I just had failed. In the eyes of the doctor, no doubt he saw me as a wanton slut now, nothing more than a sex object.

I carefully read the rules that were now applying to me:
-Cattle should be easily identifiable. At no point a cattle should try to pass for a proper citizen. So I was required to wear a cattle tag and to dress a certain way. Special exception were delivered for specific attires but the general rule was 4.5 inch heels minimum, a part of my ass and breasts should always be visible, heavy makeup, long nails...
-I shouldn't speak unless spoken to.
-I wouldn't have a name or a nickname.
-I would be a property, an object, like a car or a watch.
-I would be owned by the male foreigner I arrived with.

This last rule protected me: people couldn't do anything to me without John's approval. And John couldn't do much either since he was an American citizen: if he somehow tried anything with me, he would face legal repercussion back at home.
And I also was an American citizen: that protected me even in Weltbeltein's territory in the sense they couldn't just make me disappear.

So, basically, I just had to follow the dress code, follow John and shut up in public. That didn't worry me a lot. As I said, I already went to some Gulf countries with comparable laws.

"I'm ok with that", I confirmed.
Of course, I could also have immediately taken a plane back... and say what? That I refuse to be chaperoned by John? That I didn't want to comply with the dress code?

The doctor stopped my train of thoughts by giving me what looked like a piece of laminated paper.

"This is you tag. As you see, there's no name. Women don't have names in Weltbeltein."

This "women" word again. He meant cattle. Something has been lost in translation.
The tag was actually some kind of e-ink display, almost as big as my hand, with the number 22384 on it.

"Don't get too attached to the number. It'll changes randomly every week, automatically."

What shocked me the most was not the number but what was next to it. To my horror, right under my head shot was a picture of my anus and vagina : a pink anal hole, resolutely closed, surrounded by brown skin, and my pink pussy lips with a hit of the inner lips jutting out. The pictures the doctor just took!

"You can still change your mind.
-No... it's ok.
-Fine. Let me attach it."

It also mentioned my owner (John) and my country of origin. Using an earring, he fixed the tag on my left ear. The weight on my earlobe made it real. I was cattle now. Branded as a slut. I felt my heart race, my face flushing red, a mix of shame, fear, desperation growing in me. Did I made a mistake? I got the urge to say something to make it less awkward.

"Is...Is it alright if the tag... if it's covered by my hair?", I asked. A stupid question to hide how uncomfortable I was getting. A way to show I was trying to follow the rule as well as I could. That I will be a good girl.

He sniffled. "....it's ok, your hair is not so long... Wait, I think there is some shoes for you to wear here somewhere." He went to open a few cabinets and came back with black stripper platforms heels.

"Try this on."

I sat on the bed and must admit he had good eyes, the shoes were just the right size. I dropped down to the floor, wobbling and had a nervous laugh.
"Hehe... I'm not sure I can walk in these... Should I really..."

He sighted, visibly exasperated, rummaged a bit through a drawer to get out one of these big syringes with no needle.

"Sit back on the bed. Open your mouth."
I complied obediently and let him empty the content deep in my throat.

"Now, repeat your question.", he ordered.

"ouh...uh...hee..
-Much better. A cattle shouldn't speak unless someone ask it a question."

I tried to say something again, but this time I couldn't produce any sound at all. They had a product that made people incapable of speaking?! He must have read my silent question in my panicked eyes, because he explained, in a very didactic way:
"Yes. This product dry out the protective mucosal layer covering the vocal cords, plus act as a relaxant for them, among other things. In short, it leaves cattle incapable of speaking, isn't it brilliant...", he said, pushing a button near the exit door.

I wanted to protest, ask how long the effect will last, tell him it wasn't part of the deal, but couldn't. Two security guys entered the room. They exchanged some words with the doctor in their own language and one of them got out a thick leather collar that was closed it on my neck. It was the first time someone clasped a collar on me and let me tell you the feeling was horrendous, like someone having constantly his hand around your throat. Why? It wasn't on the leaflet either!
With a padlock  he attached a long chain to it and yanked me down the bed. I opened my mouth for a silent scream as I fell down and landed on the ridiculous platform heels, almost breaking my ankle in the process. The doctor screamed with anger. He seemed to protest against my rough treatment. I think he told them to be gentler, because one of the guy took my arm to help me leave the medical room. Finally, I was entering the country. Was I crazy ?