Sunday, February 14, 2016

Pet Shop Part 5

Naturally, the universe had to shit all over my elation. A high, nasally voice called out from the front of the shop, “Can someone get us a wheelchair or something?” Two girls came clomping into the store in the most impractical shoes, holding by the upper arms between them a mostly-unconscious boy. They tromped in, their numerous necklaces and bracelets clanging together.

“Come on, come in.” I said, “No, there’s no wheelchair just bring him back here.” I helped them back. How embarrassing! Every eye in the store stared in shock. The whole scene was not very BoyWorks. Marnie would hear about this. I could just see her pissed-off face on Monday. But that was Monday’s problem. Today, there was a sick boy.

They laid their boy on the exam table in the back. I wasn’t medically trained, but when the general manager, Marnie, absent, I was the doctor on duty. In truth, they needed to go to a vet or a doctor, but management preferred we work as intermediaries. We help explain what’s happening to the medical professionals, you see.

The boy was wan, like someone had pulled a plug and let all the color drain out of him. Both of his eyes were darkened with black marker, as were random spots down his body. On his head perched a couple of black and white spotted, stuffed puppy ears attached by a hair weave. From his butt protruded a black buttplug puppy tail. His ribs showed his ragged breathing through his skin. He wasn’t fashionable skinny, mind you, but too skinny. Well-treated boys did not get this skinny. But then, his owners were unreasonably skinny too. They were typical rich bitches from the burbs, with their pumped-up lips; unseasonably brown, flawless skin; long, manicured nails; summer dresses with folds and ruffles of fabric; and the aforementioned bracelets, necklaces and rings, of which there were way too many. I might have seen them on campus before, or maybe just other girls with the exact same look. Even the puppy was a lame, unimaginative idea for high-maintenance, low-commitment girls. And sure enough, their treatment of him was living up to the stereotype.

“Can you explain to me his symptoms?” I asked, sitting in the stool.

“Oh my god,” one of them blurted like she was clearing her throat, “he started acting really weird on Tuesday. When I got home from work he didn’t meet me at the door, he was just curled up on his bed. After I took away his bed and spanked him, he barely even tried to make dinner.”

“It’s so weird,” the other one agreed, nervously clutching her long, straight, partially-bleached hair. “Normally his favorite part of the day is giving us whole-body massages, but for some reason he has barely been trying. Honestly, it feels like he’s given up on life. I think he’s depressed.”

I nodded, “okay, okay. It certainly can happen to boys. More so if they're never allowed to cum. When was his last release?”

The girls looked at each other. “I think he’s a total virgin,” one said.

Something inside me leaped, in involuntary twitch of the crotch. Something in the shitty way she whined “virgin” sounded so appetizing. Also, I’d always had a thing for total virgins: boys who had never experienced a single orgasm. Something about caging them was just so delicious. Total innocence. I could just about see it in his fluttering, pale eyes.

“What about other incentives?” I asked. “Special food, attention, anything for good behavior?”

The other girl stifled a giggle. “A reward? Honey, he lives with us. He has his reward. Did I mention the massages?”

“Gotcha,” I replied, unimpressed. Her toenail polish was scratched and flaking but I didn’t say anything about that. “And what about the rod. How do you punish him?”

“We only use humane methods. We’re very careful about that. We only use the Plus shocker. Except, as I said, this week, when it didn’t seem to do anything. Then I resorted to the hairbrush. He didn’t like that very much.”

“I see,” I said, starting the physical examination of the boy. “And how often is he punished, on average.”

“Well obviously it depends on how good he’s being that day. These young boys can be unruly, as I’m sure you know. So I’d say we zap him about ten times a day.”

“Ten times,” I repeated, “and on what setting.”

“Honey, we don’t fuck around. He gets a 10 when he’s bad.”

I tsked gently, frustrated but trying not to offend a customer. “You should have been told at the time of checkout, or in your pamphlets, that using a 10 can be dangerous. Repeated shocks can and will cause permanent damage. You might have castrated him if you weren’t careful.”

The girls were outraged. They’d paid extra for him to be intact.

I checked the boy’s nodes and abdomen without finding an obvious problem, aside from some muscle tension. His eyes were clear, if unfocused. His breathing was ragged and his heart racing. And then my stomach dropped. He had discoloration of the scrotum. Bad. I grabbed the diagnostic kit and took a closer look at his BoyLock Plus. The places where the electrodes were implanted were red and angry, swollen around the cables. His balls had turned purple. His penis had shriveled up inside its cage. I connected the voltage meter, and it was just as I feared, the electrodes were live. In all likelihood, they’d been on since Tuesday, and probably at a full 10 considering the last setting it had. The pain was connected straight to the strongest pain nerves in the human body. The physical damage, burns and whatnot, had already killed most of the surrounding tissue. The prostate would be cooked through. The balls were most likely nonfunctional. I shut off the device, but did not remove it for fear the flesh would come away too.

“Can I see your phones?” I asked.

It only took a few keystrokes for me to edit the logs and overwrite them. “I have bad news, I’m afraid,” I told them, “It looks like your phone is to blame for this whole thing.”

“How can that be?”

“Do you see this hold button next to the pain inflictor. It looks like you had it locked on 10 this entire time. I don’t know if you set it and forgot it, or if your phone is dysfunctional, but our software is specifically designed to avoid this. It’s really tragic, because the boy is almost certainly no longer intact. If he keeps any part of his apparatus, I’ll be surprised.”

The girls were beside themselves sobbing, taking pictures of their sobbing, and posting their pictures #sobbing. It was a freak accident, an unavoidable error, a moment of forgetfulness, an act of god. There was nothing to do but pick out a new boy and let the healing begin. Shockingly, they picked another pain slut. Typical of no-empathy bitches.

I left their boy in the medical pickup bin. Kristy would be managing over the weekend, so he could be her problem.

The mall was nearly empty and I couldn’t wait to get in my car and leave this whole unpleasantness behind me. Sweet, warm Danielle would be waiting for me under the covers with her wonderful, greedy mouth. I knew that Kristy was bound to fuck up the medical transfer and the boy would probably still be in the bin on Monday, dead. Regardless, I wrote her a note and reminded myself that if I didn’t let her make mistakes, she would never learn.

“Tori, before you go, you need to look at this shipment.” Margot stood before me at the front doors, the light of freedom filtering in around her curvy silhouette.

“Let Kristy deal with it,” I replied.

“Seriously, you need to see this.”

I followed her back to the break room, taking the last chances to stare at her ass. I would bring the passion home to Danielle, I told myself. It’s good to keep the mind engaged. When we got to the break room, there was just a normal shipment of BoyLock Plus devices in a big crate. “So what?” I asked.

“So what?” Margot demanded. “Look.” She shoved one of the plastic, penis-shaped devices in my face.

It took me a moment, but then I saw the logo below the ball lock. It wasn’t the gear of BoyWorks. It was the hammer of MaleTec. I quickly closed the door behind us. “Let’s talk about what BoyWorks can do for you.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Margot spat. Her eyes were mad. “You fucking cronie. You don’t care that we’re selling rebranded, recalled deathtraps?” She spat the words at me

I put a hand on her shoulder, “I think you deserve a few days off, just to clear your head. Maybe we can get you some extra paid leave. Would you like that?”

“Would I like that? I’d like to bring this fucking company down is what I’d like to do. I’m taking this, and I’m giving it to the media. And then we’ll see what the country thinks of ‘new boyowners’ and ‘modern boykeeping.’ I can’t believe this doesn’t bother you. How many boys are in serious danger right now?”

“It wasn’t that kind of recall,” I explained, “it’s just a precaution. A few devices went bad, but they were all user error. No technical problems have been found. They’re perfectly safe, it’s just that the public went into hysterics. I mean, if it was bad, how could BoyWorks be this popular and trusted. I want you to just take a moment to think about what you’re saying. Would one of the biggest companies in the world really put boys’ lives in danger?”

“Do I think a giant fucking money-grubbing company would hide the truth to save their asses and make money? Let me think. Fucking, yes I do! Really, I thought I knew you, Tori. How can you just accept this? I thought you liked boys.”

“I do. I love them. And I think you like them too. So how about this. I’ve seen you staring at the cages, giving extra punishments, that sort of thing. I think you might be a bit of a sexual sadist. Now, don’t blush. Don’t give me that. You like the surge of power sometimes, don’t you?”

Margot hesitated and nodded and I watched her perfect button nose dance in and out of the shadows. “A bit, but I can’t condone…”

“I know, I know. You don’t have to condone anything. I’m just saying, I know you’ve been saving up to afford a rental. What if I sped that along, and I let you take a boy home tonight for free. Would you like that?”

Margot made a long uncertain noise.

“Take a boy. Take the week. Bring him back when you’re done, and tell me you still think BoyWorks is a bad thing. Don’t say anything now. Don’t fight me. Just take a boy and leave, and we’ll talk everything over next week. You’ll get paid for your time. We’ll call it behavioral therapy sessions. Does that sound good?”

Margot looked at me with guilty eyes. She sheepishly offered, “I guess I’m interested.”

“Of course you are,” I said, “there’s no shame in being turned on by boys. Sometimes I think I like boys more than girls, honestly, but that stays between us. What kind of boy do you like?”

We walked out into the now-deserted main store. All along the row were boys, some sleeping, some staring. All had been zapped by us at one point or another, as part of the demonstrations. All had reason to be afraid. “I like gentle boys,” Margot said, “one I can dress up and cuddle with. A cute one. But not one with a Plus. I don’t want to have to deal with a deathtrap.”

What could I do? I’m a company woman. I let her have Clair’s boy. We’d just say that the implantation had to be done at our central facility due to complications. She’d be concerned, but she’d understand. Presumably Margot wouldn’t do him any visible damage during the week. Having never had a boy before, she might be gentle and cautious, or she might go overboard with excitement and do some real damage.

Management would be getting a whole earful about this, I promise you that. It was bullshit that I had to clean up after their messes. How a whole box of mislabeled devices could get out to a store was completely beyond me. Several people must have fucked up. It was a wonder that boys made their way safely home at all with this level of incompetency. I brought the box of mislabeled devices out to my car and stashed it in the trunk. Hopefully Margot would have her fun and that would be that. If not, I wasn’t dealing with it anymore.

With that promise made to myself, I started back home, trying to keep my mind on cuddling Danielle and not on the future of my friendly little licker boy going home with his nasty, old owner. I hoped she’d enjoy him and treat him as nicely as I did.

Saturday, February 13, 2016

Pet Shop Part 4

The rush was starting to die off. Danielle would be all snuggled up at home by now. I hoped she wouldn’t be too tired. I was looking forward to some companionship later. She was probably watching TV. If she finished Celebrity Houseboys without me, I would kill her. Watching ahead in shows is tantamount to cheating, in my opinion.

After Benji had been locked and installed in a cage, I helped Sandy get a couple of other cages clean. So many boys shuffle through this place every day that it was hard to keep enough cages clean to accomodate them. But in a place where every cage is on display, it had to be done as often as possible. I suppose that the creators of BoyWorks had that in mind when they renovated this place. The boy store that had this location before was a sad, cramped thing with dirty newspaper lining the dark cages. The boys always looked sick. Now, occasionally our boys might go hungry, but the sanitary conditions are nothing like they were in the old days. Brightness and transparency: that’s the new wave. That’s the future of boytrade.

That’s around when Mrs. Sung, our friendly neighborhood lawyer, strolled in. She was taller than anyone at the shop and her personality commanded the place. People stepped out of her way as she approached. She wore a black pinstripe pantsuit with black leather shoes, all business. “I hear you’ve got a cheeky male,” she said all debonair.

“Thanks so much for coming over. We have a contract for you to look over.”

Sung was exactly the kind of woman I wanted to grow up to be. She measured every word for maximum impact. She said, “Isn’t it cute when boys try to use the law? Like they could ever scratch the surface something that takes women their whole lives to master.”

“This one isn’t very cute,” I warned. On our way over I saw Margot giving a customer a demonstration. She was using my cute little licker! And he’d already been sold. “Margot, for fuck’s sake, don’t use ones we’ve already sold. That’s someone’s property!” Worse than that, she was showing people shocks up to 8, when store regulations made 5 the highest unwarranted punishment. The girl was cute, but come on. She couldn’t keep making mistakes like that.

I collected Scout from his cage, attaching his enforcer to a transfer leash. “I think he’s pretty cute,” Sung disagreed. “If he could lost a few pounds, I wouldn’t mind keeping him a few nights. Does your girlfriend ever rent you out, honey?”

Scout was too humiliated to answer properly. “No,” he mumbled.

“What’s that?” Sung asked, grabbing him. She stood more than a head taller than him, and her fingers pinched cruelly around his neck. “Is that how to talk to women, boy?”

He squirmed defiantly. “She doesn’t rent me. She loves me, okay? She wouldn’t make me do that sort of thing.”

“We’ll see,” said Sung, determination rising in her voice. Scout’s rejection sounded suspiciously like a challenge to her.

Clair sat alone where I left her, reading the creative punishments issue of Modern Keyholder. She closed the magazine and pushed it away as I opened the door. “Clair,” I asked, “can we come in?”

“Of course,” she said, grabbing a compact out of her purse and touching up her lips. Scout sat beside her, wearing only the enforcer we left on him. Sung and I sat opposite. “Here is the contract that we signed. It’s true that it says-”

Sung cut her off, “-don’t summarize out loud, please. I don’t need to hear what you think it says. I need to read what it says. This conversation is being recorded, by the way.” Then, after a moment, “Yes, this all looks in order. Pretty standard cum tax document. One release for every $5,000 deposited, with sliding scale for future earnings. And what’s the dispute?”

Clair shot Scout a look of disdain. “Scout is always arguing with me when he gives me the tribute. He claims that he is guaranteed a release each time, which is basically every two months. I think that his release is also dependent on other factors. Like behavior, for example,” she said pointedly at her boy. “I think I still have final call on when he is allowed a release. Basically, he thinks he can cum whenever he likes.”

Sung made a tutting sound as she scanned over the document again. “Courts do not like documents that compel women to comply with men. I can tell you that. The wording here looks pretty airtight. Let me ask, how long have you two been together?”

Clair spoke for both of them, “about five years.”

“Wow, young sweethearts, is that it?”

“It is,” she said with a grin.

“And when was this contract signed?”

“Just last year.”

“Did something change?”

“Yes,” answered Scout huffily.

“And what would that be. In your opinion?” she asked Clair.

“Maybe we’ve grown more distant. I’m trying to enforce more reasonable boundaries with him.”

“And what would those be?”

“Just normal stuff. He can only touch me when I ask him to. He has to sleep on the floor until the morning when he can cuddle in bed. And we’ve been trying to get past a recent issue where he’s been stealing my underwear. Stretching them out over his head. Gross, Scout.”

“That happened like twice,” Scout said. Clair’s look told him not to push the issue. Like she was being charitable.

Sung nodded, “Well I think we could have this arrangement nullified by a judge pretty quickly if you testified to his perverse activities. Honestly, I don’t know how you could live with a pervert who has violated you like that, but I’m no counselor. But you mentioned touching, he used to touch you?”

“Well, we used to be together,” she explained, “like together, together. Things were different when we were younger, where we grew up.”

“And he would touch you as he pleased? What about the rest of your body? Did he ever touch you… there?” Sung asked.

Scout protested, “I don’t see what this has to do-”

“Yes,” answered Clair.

“I see. Had he ever put that thing on or in you?”

Scout had had enough. He lept to his feet. “She was my girlfriend, okay? We fucked. We fucked! That’s a normal thing for two people to do. It’s not a crime for two people who love each other to fuck around. We’ve had our ups and downs, but I never violated her body. I’ve always been respectful, just ask her.”

Sung looked him up and down, unimpressed. “Is that true?”

“It’s mostly true,” said Clair hesitantly. “There were a few times, when we got drunk at parties and such, where he went a little too far. Early college was very difficult for us. We both learned a lot, and we had to make adjustments. He hasn’t been inside me for about two years, but I’ll admit that we had sex for many years. But it was consensual.”

Sung winced at that last word. “Let’s stick to the facts, okay, and not make too many broad statements. Since you ended your sexual relationship, has Scout ever propositioned you for sex?”

Scout shook his head, but Clair said, “a few times. What? It’s true. You’ve asked, haven’t you?”

“I can separate you two if it would help you answer freely,” Sung told Clair.

“No it’s okay.”

“Alright. Well, let me first say that you haven’t done anything wrong, Clair, and your past relationship with your abuser can’t be held against you. I have to tell you that the law has changed since you were young. Under the Female Protections Act of two years ago, any sexual proposition he has made you is technically a threat of rape, with a maximum punishment of castration and 30 years of hard service. That’s the maximum, mind you.

“As for this contract, it is absolutely unenforceable for a very obvious reason. What is that toy on your boy’s junk there?”

“It’s a Manbreaker. My sister gave it to me.”

“Girl…” said Sung disapprovingly, dropping her strict rigidity, “that thing is crap. It’s not secure. That’s what, generation two? We’re on generation five now! Devices like those are legally non-existent. Essentially, this contact was signed by a man out of an enforcer. That makes the agreement null. You were under the threat of rape when you signed.”

“I was?” asked Clair.

“That’s right,” said Sung. “He could have ripped that thing off his penis in an instant. You were prey to his manish sexuality. But let me give you this piece of advice. Never enter into an agreement with a man where you ‘have to’ release him. There is no reason under modern law why a boy should ever get an automatic right to release. There is no benefit to releasing men. It’s science. It’s law.”

“I never have!” shouted Scout, red in the face like a crying baby. “I would never do that!”

“I had no idea,” said Clair, looking Scout over in a new light, like she was seeing him naked for the first time. “I’ve been under threat of rape this whole time? I can’t believe it.”

I chimed in, “Pretty sobering thought, isn’t it. Having this beast sleeping beside you all those years.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Clair. “Well, I have to do something. What’s your least expensive, secure device?”

I beamed with pride. Everything was coming up Tori. “All of BoyWorks’ devices are secure. That’s not just a guarantee, that’s a warranty. We could have him fitted with a BoyWorks device and you could take him home tonight. But let me ask you, do you ever have trouble disciplining him?”

Clair shrugged, “Sometimes. He doesn’t like being punished.”

Sung laughed, “well what boy does?”

It was my turn to glare. “What if I told you you could deliver exactly the right amount of reward or punishment, right away, from your phone, anywhere, anytime. Would that interest you?”

Scout, who had been staring dejectedly at the table, suddenly looked defensive. “You’re not talking about a shock collar?”

Clair shared his concern. “I don’t want a shock collar. I’ve read about the recalls online. Too dangerous.”

“Now, hold on. This isn’t a shock collar. This is a surgically implanted combination chastity-and-punishment system. You haven’t seen anything like this on the market before. Only BoyWorks has it.” I showed her the brochure, which featured the cute cartoon boy from the movie. This one was frowning from a punishment.

“I don’t know,” Clair said, “this looks pretty similar to what I’ve seen before. Electrodes to the penis and prostate. Isn’t that what those MaleTec devices were? And those killed a few guys. I’m not doing it if it’s not safe. Scout is very precious to me.”

“No, no, no,” I insisted. “This is totally different. This has a BoyWorks operating system at the heart of it. That means that it can never go down, never malfunction, and will alert you right away if it senses tampering. Look at the statistics,” I showed her on my tablet, “there’s a perfect safety record and endorsements from all the major boy safety organizations. It’s way more sophisticated than a shock collar.”

Clair only had to see one in action to be sold. For both pain and pleasure, she insisted. And yet, Scout was still scared. He whimpered, “This is surgery. These are dangerous. I don’t want it. Don’t do this, goddess.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Clair cooed. “It’s just a few implants. Like Tori said, it’s going to make things so much easier for both of us. I mean, they wouldn’t be selling them if they were still dangerous. Just trust me.”

Scout wasn’t hearing a word of it. He crossed his arms and his lower lip jutted into a pout. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t have to. I’ve done everything you’ve asked me, but I just can’t do this. I don’t consent.”

It broke my heart to see a boy like this. I knew that underneath all the petulance and defiance, he was just scared. However, he’d made a tactical mistake by digging in his feet, because now pride was on the line. Sung looked Clair over like a punk. Clair picked her words carefully. “I understand that you’re upset, Scout, but this is what I want.”

“No!” Scout had turned angry like a wounded dog. He was even baring his teeth. “I won’t! My mom will never sign the papers!”

Clair pulled him into a hug, pushing past his weak attempts to pull away. “Come here. Hey come here,” she pulled him face to face, and wiped the tears from his face. “What’s going on? You’re saying no to me? I thought we talked about this. Do you really think your mom wouldn’t agree? You think your mom is still protecting you?” The sweetness went out of her voice and the color drained from his. “That’s so cute. She signed you over to me, baby. I didn’t want to tell you unless you made me. She signed you over last summer. I can do anything I want to you. She said I was old enough to handle a boy of my own. She said she knew I’d make the hard decisions she didn’t have the heart to. And I guess this is one of them.”

Scout slumped into her embrace and had himself a little cry. I knew they would look back on this as a turning point in their relationship. I was proud to watch.

“Thanks Ms. Sung. Make sure you sign the log on the way out. Your advice was very helpful.”

“I still have a question for Clair,” said the lawyer. “Have you put any thought towards renting Scout to other women? The are all kinds of restrictions you can put on the rental if you’re the jealous type.”

Clair was a bit taken aback, Scout flabbergasted. “Hold on, baby,” he said in his snivelling voice. “We need to talk about this alone.”

Clair responded, “I’m not jealous. But I wouldn’t want to share him.”

Sung smiled. “Let me put this another way. Do you remember what I told you about the past not being held against you? I’m afraid the same cannot be said for your boy, Scout. In fact, it sounds like he persisted in penetrating you with his penis for some years. That doesn’t just go away, I’m afraid. I am professionally obligated to alert the state about the boy’s transgressions. I think we could have him processed into the national boy system. You see, male on female penetration is considered a hate crime, and hate crimes are prosecutable by the state. You wouldn’t even be involved, except as maybe a character witness. Scout would probably have a very interesting time in prison. The law allows some very creative punishments for male sex offenders.

“Of course,” Sung finished, “I don’t have to call the state. I could always lose the record of this conversation. These sorts of things happen all the time. It really depends on how generous I’m feeling.”

Clair was struck dumb. She looked at Scout and then at me, like I could help her. Sung did this sometimes, even though I have asked her not too and it hurts our business. Like she cared. He really should not have challenged her. She’s one of those personalities who can’t handle a slight, especially from a male. I don’t know that she was a supremacist, but she wiped her boots on men. Clair answered carefully, “I think I could be open. Let’s talk more later.”

“Nope,” replied Sung. “One week. As soon as he’s fitted. I want to help him understand the features of his new enforcer. We’ll spend some nice time together. Don’t worry about it.”

Clair looked crestfallen. “He’s mine,” she insisted hollowly. “We just needed a little legal advice.”

Sung shrugged and turned away. “Nothing’s free.”

I returned Scout to his holding pen, this time unrestrained. He couldn’t quite sit up straight in the short cage, which seemed to bother him some. Some boys do get claustrophobia, but if you lock the cage properly and give them a little good-night snack, they don’t cause too much trouble. Before long he wasn’t sitting up at all, he was curled up, naked and sleeping. I hoped I be seeing more of him. Actually, I hoped I’d be sending him to training camp soon.

As I counted it, another BoyLock Plus meant another twenty-five in commission. With the rental, the other BoyLock and the training camp upsell, I was well on my way to a fat weekend. New shoes, plenty of booze, my best girl at my side and the world open with possibility. God, it was good to be young and beautiful. I was on top of the world.

Friday, February 12, 2016

Pet Shop Part 3

By now the store was packed with harried women trying to grab a little boy food and maybe a toy on the way home from work. It was nice to see so many responsible owners preparing for the weekend. I tried not to sneer at the women getting cut-rate boy food. Boys need good nutrition to stay healthy, anyone can tell you that. Really, they need richer environments than our cages too, especially the restrained ones. I could bring it up to the store owners if only I could find a published study that agreed. But no, all boy welfare writers were unpublishable extremists.

My tablet notified me that a new appointment had arrived. I had been waiting for this one. As soon as Clair Little made the appointment, I looked her up on the university facebook. Sure enough, she was the cute girl from freshman-year English. Not only that but she’d been a liberal when I knew her, nearly an equalist in how she treated her boyfriend. I never expected to see her inside the store of an evil corporation like BoyWorks.

I spotted her from across the room. Call me a horny teen or whatever, but Clair was even more gorgeous than Margot. Her bleached hair was growing out, and she had lovely dark hair under her swept bangs, like the dark in the curve of a wave. She looked pissed, annoyed to even be there. She dragged her boyfriend in “by the balls,” as in, by a chain connected to his enforcer. It would seem things had changed since college.

“Stop fidgeting. Just stand there,” she commanded him as I approached.

“Clair Little! It’s so good to see you!” I exclaimed.

“Ooooh great to see you,” she managed in a passably friendly way. Her eyes fixed on my name tag, “Tori.”

“Freshman English. I wrote about aliens. You wrote about the first boy president. Remember?”

“Of course. So good to see you. Yeah. So, anyway, we’ve been having this disagreement. He wouldn’t believe me, so I thought I could bring him to some experts and find out. We’ve never been to the BoyWorks, you see. I thought we might get a full check-up on him too. Since we’re here. Stop fidgeting!” she commanded.

Her boy’s name was Steve, as I recalled. She was always “Steve this, Steve that,” like anyone gave a shit what “Steve” thought. Small-town girls can be so funny. And I mean both intentionally and unintentionally.She’d grown up since I last saw her. Steve, however, looked far less than before. Simply less. Maybe it was the leash.

“Right to business. I appreciate that. Come with me back to our consultation rooms.”

This time the room was properly set up. As in, Kristy didn’t fuck it up. The room had this really nice hospital look. Of course, as a retail outlet, we couldn’t actually provide medical care, but we could certainly pretend to. The hospital setup was all part of the pitch. That said, we did provide far better boy care than any of the old retail boy shops did.

Steve got up on the exam table while Clair and I sat in the chairs. I gave her the same sheet I’d given the family in the room next door. “For our records, and for calibrating your care, could you circle on here how well Steve performs at each of these common male functions?”

Clair looked annoyed but she took the clipboard and started reading. “His name isn’t Steve anymore,” she told me as she tucked the pen behind her ear with a shock of bleached-and-brown hair, “it’s Scout.”

“Nice,” I said, turning the name over in my head. “So are you going for a puppy thing?”

“No, not like that,” Clair objected. “I just thought it would be nice to give him a new name on his birthday and I’ve always liked Scout.”

“Well it’s a very nice name. I bet you like it, don’t you, Scout?” I asked, petting his head.

“It’s a very nice name,” he repeated bitterly.

“Great,” I said. “Well, let’s get started with the examination. Can you take you clothes off for me, Scout?”

“Now hold up,” he said, visibly angry, “we just came in here for a legal consultation. She doesn’t need to fill that out. You don’t need to examine me. We just need cheap legal advice. Isn’t that right, Clair?”

What a fucking cunt. I would never let a boy talk to me like that outside of work. In here, though, there were customers to consider. The situation demanded restraint. “Actually, she does need to fill that out. And I do need to examine you, so both of you can be entered into the system properly. We can’t provide any service to just anyone. We need an entry in the system. I already got most of the information on the phone, now I just need to take some measurements. Now, please let me see your enforcer. Or do I need to ask more nicely? Would you pretty please let me help you? Please, boy?”

Clair smirked under her breath and I sighed relief. This wasn’t going to be one of those unpleasant-calls-to-the-manager days. And she wasn’t just acting, she legitimately wanted to see Scout humbled. I was happy to oblige. After all, she was a customer.

Scout looked dolefully at his keyowner and begrudgingly removed his pants. Underneath was one of the shittiest, old enforcers I had ever seen: bulky as anything and where were the features? Worse still, there were clear areas of breachable security. “What kind of device is this?” I asked.

“It’s a Manbreaker. My older sister got it off a friend of hers for free.”

“Wow,” I said, trying not to sound superior, “this thing is ancient. I’m surprised it hasn’t hurt him, and he hasn’t hurt you!”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“He could get out of this if he wanted to. He couldn’t get back in, but he could certainly do some damage before he could be restrained again. Did you hear about those escaped prisoners raping women in California? That prison used Manbreakers.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “I had no idea.”

I tsked her lightly and got out my measuring tools. “It’s a dangerous world when boys can get loose. We’re all in this together, us girls.” His cage was of standard size. He mostly filled it, but it wasn’t a great fit. That’s a stock device for you. Not like the top-of-the-line hardware at BoyWorks, which can be adjusted to any body type. I finished making my notes in the computer and turned to Clair. “Alright, now, what brings you in?”

“Scout here made a contract with me. Show her the contract, Scout.” He unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket. “And he thinks it means that every time he pays me his weekly wage, he gets to cum. Whereas I think it means that he can ask for the right to cum, but it’s up to my discretion whether he gets out or not.”

I glanced over the document. It didn’t concern me much. “Well, that’s an interesting question. I can give you a short answer and I can give you a long answer, and I’d like to give you both, if that’s okay with you. I can tell you off the top of my head that courts tend to frown on any document that compels a woman to do anything, particularly for a man. The fact that he’s giving you money absolutely does not give him the right to tell you what to do with your body. For him to even imply that is a breach of the Female Protections Act. So that’s what I know right away. But I can tell you more.”

It was a classic opening. We bring them in with actual knowledge and useful free service before we sell. It’s called building trust. If it takes a little more to make a shopper into a lifetime customer, that’s what you do. It’s something other companies could learn from.

Clair looked disgusted with her boy. “Well, Scout, do you need to hear more?”

“It’s bullshit,” he whimpered. “It’s just bullshit. I have the agreement we signed right here. It’s notarized for fuck’s sake. ‘One period of release for every week of the aforementioned tribute payment.’ Clear as day. No judge could reject that!”

I told Clair, “We have a local lawyer on retainer. BoyWorks would be happy to have her talk to you for free. She might not have gone home yet.”

Before long I was on the phone with Lily Sung, Esq., who ran a law practice out of the mall. She was trashy, but she was ours and we loved her. She still had a meeting to take, but agreed to swing by the store on her way home. I stored Scout in a cage to wait for her arrival. Unlike the really nice store up in Cherry Hills proper, we didn’t have any room for cages in the back, so he was out on display. I made a point of hanging the Not for Sale sign.

I returned to the room where the Strombers sat debating Benji’s future. As soon as I opened the door, he wailed, “I don’t want to be a boy anymore. I’ll wear my makeup, I promise!”

How sad! Sometimes boys had this reaction when they learned how many freedoms they had to give up in order to enjoy the privileges of female society. It was a natural part of the process.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I asked, kneeling beside his chair.

“They keep talking about sending me off to school far away but I don’t want to leave my friends.”

“Oh no,” I told him, petting the side of his head. “Are most of your friends girls?”

He nodded.

“I see,” I said. “Well that’s sad to hear. You probably won’t get to see them for a couple years. But guess what! The next time you see them, they’re be much more interested in you. That’s because girls love hearing about training camp. It’s true! Girls always like a trained boy better than a boring old gurl.”

“Well I don’t want to play with girls! I just want to play with my toys and be left alone. I hate makeup and I hate girls!”

It was clear that this little boy needed some serious guidance. He was verging on petulant and starting to annoy me. I sat down and asked his mothers, “Do you two have a course of treatment in mind?”

Benji’s mother smiled at him, and said, “I think maid training is a good place to start.”

“Of course,” I said, “that’s an easy way to start him contributing to your life. Let me get that entered in the system and I can print you out the relevant reading material. While I have you here, though, let me show you some information about the training camps.”

I pulled up on the projector our informational brochure about the camps. The cover had bright, bold letters that said, “Training Camp - where boys can be boys.”

“It’s a completely modern facility,” I said, “with bunks for the boys, a state-of-the-art kitchen and dining facility, and some of the best boy handlers working in the world today. And it’s adjacent to BoyWorks Labs, so we get the absolute latest in behavioral methods straight from the scientists who pioneer them. What’s more is that we have a complete satisfaction guarantee. If you feel that your boy has not attained whatever tier of the profile he was sent to achieve, he can be sent back at no cost to you. The whole thing is available for just 50 dollars with your BoyLock subscription.”

Tina, the aunt, was happy to announce, “Actually, we already decided that we did want to send him off. It’ll give Lana and me a chance to reset and clear our heads before we start this new path with Benji.”

“Well that’s great to hear!” I said, imagining the commission being added to my paycheck. “Let me make one more suggestion, then. While he’s away, it’s best to do the first tier of Screamer training too, even if you have no plans for making him a pain slut. It simply exposes him to basic punishment techniques: caning, spanking, whipping, chemical and anal torture. It’ll give you a good basis to start your punishments from. And I promise you, no boy has graduated the class without a healthy respect for women.”

Lana looked lost, but Tina knew just what to do. “Sounds great. Is that another 50?”

“Nope, just 30 for extra classes during the same stay.”

“Great!” exclaimed Tina, “We’ll get it. I’ll pay for it. Do we get educational materials too?”

“Naturally. I think we could even get a trainer to come to your house for a free personal lesson. But to qualify for that, you need one more thing.”

“Another thing?” Lana worried. “I think this is already expensive enough.”

I shrugged, “It can be pricey to really train a boy right. It’s really up to you whether it’s worth it. But I can say from what I’ve seen that well-trained boys are happier and their owners are happier too. Nothing is sadder than the struggle of a half-feral boy who tries to avoid punishment. There’s a big difference between avoiding punishment and being obedient. A difference you can see at BoyWorks.

“Which brings me to the BoyLock Plus. Now, with the standard Boylock you can do a fine job of training him. You can do chastity training with unlocking rewards. You can do normal behavioral modification through treats and corporal punishment. Sure, but don’t those methods seem a little outdated? I mean, behavioral conditioning, as they said in the video, was invented by a man, using those techniques. A far more elegant and modern approach is to apply reward and punishment straight to the penis itself: the boy’s center of reasoning. Once you can tap straight into his reasoning, you have direct control. I’ve seen boys half his age up at 5 every morning with breakfast on the table and a clean kitchen by 7. You’d swear he’d been set like a clock. Now, the service is an extra 10 bucks a month, but you get the expanded BoyWorks app and free customer service for life. I should add that I’ve never had a single customer downgrade or complain about subsequent performance.”

The mother stared at trembling Benji for a long second and agreed, “It’s in his best interest.”

Benji was beside himself, “I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t want to leave. Let me stay with you!” Et cetera, et cetera, and on and on, as they sometimes do when first committed. Unfortunately, this would be only the first in a long series of disappointments for little Benji. Training was hard, and probably hardest for screamers. If his mothers decided to him, he had a chance of growing old enough to retire. If they sold him into the system, he would probably be used up by age 40.

I said, “Hey buddy, I’m going to need you to come with me. We’re going to get you set up with an enforcer and then tomorrow you can start your new classes. Can you come with me?”

He wiped his eyes and took a long, vengeful look at his mother and aunt. “I thought I didn’t have to do anything I don’t want. I heard you say that!”

“Well, look right here,” I said, showing him the forms his mother had filled out. “Do you see where she signed right here? That means that I have consent to process you, and the training camp has consent to train you. You’re too young to make these sorts of decisions, so your mommy can sign for you. So, you see, you’ve consented. You’re going to find that it’s very important to align your desires to those of you keyowner. It is always in your best interest to agree with her from now on. Now, come with me. They might have a treat for you over in processing.”

I took his hand and he came along, resigned. It felt like dragging a rag doll. He grumbled, “I wish I didn’t have to be a boy.”

I patted his head, “I know, buddy; it’s going to be a big transition. But you know what? You’re going to have a very special life, just in a different way. Did anyone tell you that?”

Benji asked, “what are you talking about?”

“You get to have a relationship that very few boys get. Very, very few. You are going to become very intimate with your mother and aunt in a way that you couldn’t imagine before. At first there might be some hard adjustments, but before long, I bet you’ll be closer with them than ever before. Imagine what a wonderful family you’ll have when you’re keeping your mom and aunt happy all the time. Your life will be so simple: you do what your mothers tell you to and you get rewarded. None of the tricky decisions that grown-ups have to deal with. You can just stay a boy forever. And when your mom is done with you, maybe she’ll sell you to someone. Maybe someone young and beautiful who wants a trained, obedient boy. Like me?”

Benji blushed. “You? You like boys?”

“Like them? I love boys. Nothing’s better than a cute boy’s smile. And I’ll tell you what: you’re not old enough for this yet, but I love to watch boys riding a big, plastic dick. My girlfriend and I watch videos of boy rape all the time. It’s so hot. Like I said, you may not care now, but one day I bet you’ll have girls falling over each other to see you. Maybe your mom will even rent out our new skills to other women. I would be very excited if I were you. This is the start of a whole new life.”

Benji looked a bit less unhappy. Sandy in processing was less cute than me, but Benji seemed struck by her too. When she told him to take off his pants he nearly died of embarrassment. And for good reason, since he had barely started developing. I wondered if he’d ever had an orgasm, ever touched himself that way. It was all the better if he was a total innocent; there was something so hot about delivering a total virgin. “Don’t forget to mark me as the seller,” I reminded Sandy.