Pet Shop Part 2

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

I did a quick lap around the store before heading back to the front, straightening papers, wiping down the shiny glass surfaces. It took a lot of work to keep this place looking like the future. When I returned to the front, my first appointment had arrived. Two tall, severe women flanked a little boy in a dress. The women wore little makeup and the little one had dark streams of eyeliner running down his cheeks. “Look at this cutie,” I exclaimed. “What a lovely little gurl!”

“What do you say, Benji?” prompted the taller of the two women.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, awkwardly pulling at the short purple dress. It draped beautifully from his shoulders down his model-skinny frame, but tented awkwardly where his boy parts protruded. No amount of readjustment could hide that.

“So, are you the Stromber party?” I asked.

“Yes,” was all I got.

“And it looks like you’re here for an initial fitting. How exciting!” I leaned down to get a good look at the boy. His cheeks had some glitter too, and there was an outline indicative of lipstick licked off.  “Have your mommies explained why you’re here?”

“We’re sisters,” corrected the shorter of the women, who, I should note, was nearly as tall and every bit as boney as her sister. They both looked sharp as broken glass where their bones met their flesh. Not the sort you would want to cuddle, which is a shame since cuddling is the greatest sensation in the world. Danielle would be getting home soon, curling up in the easy chair with a bottle of wine. I hoped she’d make dinner before I got home. Wonderful, cuddly Danielle.

“Only one mommy, then?” I asked.

“I’m Lana, I’m his mother. But Tina helps me raise him but he calls her aunt.”

“Well, Benji,” I asked, “do you know why you’re here?”

“It’s cause I was bad. I’m being punished,” he said with all the injustice of the world dripping from his tongue.

“Lying boy,” hissed Tina. “We gave you all the chances we could. More than I wanted to.” She was starting to remind me of my mother.

“I didn’t wear my dresses enough and I didn’t do my makeup, so now I have to be a boy instead of a gurl,” he whined.

Lana talked over him, “We gave him a chance to be a gurl like his donor-sire, but he wouldn’t behave himself like a gurl, so now he has to be a boy. We warned you, we threatened you, but nothing could got through, did it. So now you get to see the results of your decision. You’re going to be a boy.”

Benji was bright red. No doubt the embarrassment and frustration were getting to him. It was no way to start a life as a full-grown boy. Every boy should start his servitude under happy circumstances, so he feels love towards his keepers and not resentment. That wasn’t BoyWorks policy; it’s just empathy and humanity. “Hey, buddy,” I told him, “it’s really not a punishment. You’ll see. Being a slave has benefits you probably can’t even imagine right now. I’ll show you. Being a boy can be lots of fun. Come on, let’s get started in one of the private rooms.”

I walked them to the back rooms. On the way, he was staring the display cages and when he looked back up at me, there were fresh tears in his eyes. “It’s not so bad in the cages,” I told him. “We let them out every day and give them lots of kisses. You like kisses, don’t you?” He didn’t smile, but he looked a little less sick

And of course Kristy didn’t have the welcome room set up. Typical. What was the point of that girl? The welcome room was supposed to be full of balloons and banners like a birthday party. Instead it was just a bare meeting room, like some kind of business meeting. “This chair is for the big boy,” I announced, pulling out a random, undecorated chair. At least the computer and projector stayed in the room at all times so Kristy couldn’t fuck that up too. “Let’s start with a short video, shall we?”

The video started with a woman in a lab coat in front of a door. “Oh, hi there,” she started. “Today is a very exciting day for you. It is the first day of your new life.” The camera pulled back to show the front of a brick building with blue awnings. “With the help of BoyWorks Technology Labs, we make sure that every boy works. And works right. Come on, let’s go inside.” The gear-and-man BoyWorks logo filled the screen for a few seconds, and the woman now stood with another woman in a lab coat. They both held clipboards. “I’m here at BoyWorks Labs with our head behaviorist, Amy Grant. Amy, what can you tell us about boy behavior.”

“Thanks, Holly,” she said brusquely. “Boys have been around since the dawn of womankind, but they only started reaching their full potential in the last few decades. Why is that? When the demographic revolution of the 21st century happened, there were few laws and institutions that dealt directly with the problem of boys. In fact, boys nearly became extinct before modern science even recognized that there was a problem.” The video changed to a series of panned still images of cities in riot, women with batons and men crying. “Boys were regarded as a lesser community due to their aggression and short-sighted behavior. Often isolated to ghettos of cities, they were angry and scared. New technology and economies had all but obsoleted their very existence. If nothing was done, scientists predicted the end of the human race.”

Now the music shifted and images of little boys in pink dresses and adult gurls at shops. “But not only did we avoid distinction, we started a revolution. Angela Vikis, philanthropist and activist, started the BoyWorks foundation. Her foundation, along with the efforts of President Lange and several hard-working congresswomen, the BoyWorks program started pulling young boys out of male enclaves and situating them with loving homes. It was a huge success! Not only was crime and violence entirely eradicated in the rehabilitated boys, but how women felt about boys changed too. They were no longer seen as dangerous outsiders; now they were cute pets and friends. Before long, women were choosing to give birth to boys. Just look at the progress we’ve made in just fifty years.”

The video showed happy, running boys, playing in parks as their mothers watch on. It showed soda shops with pre-teen boys laughing. There were boy nurses and boy maids, and even a boy firewoman. Finally it settled on the wrinkled smile of Sandra Vikis, who had laid on the makeup but still looked her age. “Hi, I’m Sandra Vikis,” she said, “chairwoman of the BoyWorks comission, CEO of BoyWorks Technology, the daughter of Angela Vikis, and most importantly, boykeeper of fifty years. When my mother started this movement fifty years ago, she wanted to see a happy boy in every home. I am happy to say that we are almost there, and by entering the BoyWorks program, you are helping us get one step closer to that dream.”

The image of Sanda’s talking head dissolved into a sunset and the music played that annoying trill that got stuck in everyone’s head. I felt sure I would hear it in my dreams. Troodle-i-doodle-i-doodle.

Now we were back in the lab with Holly and Amy. The stuffy-looking scientist picked up the story. “Which brings us to today. Boy science has come a long way in the last fifty years, and we are proud to have remained the leader in the area. We started with the assumption that males were primarily controlled by their penises. In fact, fifteen years into the project, we ran a study that found that males’ brains respond to penis stimulation more than the other way around. This staggering insight led to the behavior system that is still the basis of all BoyWorks technology. It all starts with a little help from our friend, the chastity enforcer.”

We were treated to a little cartoon. The cartoon boy was all pink, like a newborn. He smiled as a cartoon chastity device appeared and fastened over his penis. “Chastity enforcemet is the first step towards training your boy. By allowing reward in the form of release time, and enforcing punishment through longer durations of lockdown, a boy’s behavior can we modified to fit any number of BoyWorks approved profiles. As these change all the time, your BoyWorks representative can explain which behavior models are available.” Everyone looked at me and I smiled. Benji was crying again, but was keeping it quiet. “Even more effective is the BoyLock Plus line of chastity enforcers. By surgically implanting various electrodes into the penis and prostate gland, we are able to directly control behavior-modifying chemicals right at the source.” The cartoon boy didn’t look happy when the pain signal turned his crotch into a glowing red area. “Ask your representative about upgrading to BoyLock Plus today.”

Holly was outside of the building again, walking toward the camera. “Well, that was a fascinating look into the mysterious inner-workings of BoyWorks Labs. I hope you learned as much as I did, and I’ll see you again in other BoyWorks behavioral modification videos. Until then, stay safe and enjoy your newly locked boy. It’s the start of a wonderful new relationship.” The music swelled and the screen went black.

I’d heard the presentation enough times I could recite it backwards and forwards. Still, sitting through it was nicer than having to actually recite it each time. I turned the lights on in the room. Benji’s mommies were smiling at each other broadly and Benji stared at them scared. “This boy is a real cutie, you know that?” I asked them. I wondered what he would look like without front teeth. Probably fine. He looked like a born licker. “Don’t be scared, little buddy,” I told him in a low whisper, “No one is going to hurt you. These enforcers are designed to make boys happy as well as girls. No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Consent is very important to the whole process.”

“Now I’m going to leave you three with an enforcer, a key, and a list of personality profiles. This is just a demo enforcer, so don’t worry about putting it on him. It’s just to look at.”

The mother shook her head. “We don’t need the profiles actually. We just needed to get him fitted and maybe some pamphlets on home training.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, “that’s fine too. I would like the two of you to at least look over the profiles too. Even if you decide to train him yourselves, it’s worthwhile to know what sort of goal you have in mind.”

The aunt wanted to know, “Do we just pick one of these?”

I nodded as I gave her the sheet. “It’s best to start with one. You can go all the way up to the fifth tier of training on any or every profile. It’s only tiers six and seven that cause irreversible changes. That’s usually reserved for boys entering the market. Or are you planning on selling him?”

The aunt answered, “We haven’t decided yet,” and shot a long look at her sister.

The list covered all the major categories of boys: maids, cooks, butlers, masseuses, pedicurists, lickers, screamers, fuck-dolls (for women who like that hole-on-pole action), puppies, and even suckers for the few boy-owning gurls.

I left them to discuss, smiling as I closed the door. I just loved initiating new boys. It made all the hours of cleaning cages almost worth it. Every boy who went home with a happy family was saved, in my eyes. Saved from the unfortunate blackmarket that didn’t give two hoots about boy wellbeing. It burned me up just to think about. Mistreating poor, little boys—poor, smooth, naked, scared, shaven, beaten, little boys—all alone in this world without anygirl to train and guide them. It really breaks my heart.

I pulled a soda out of the break room fridge and sat in one of the two sad chairs that fit in the cramped room largely used for storage. I took off my cap to let my scalp breathe as I relaxed. The soda tasted cold like ice in summer and sweet as artificially processed corn could taste. When I put it between my legs it felt cool and wet. I was enjoying the quiet when Margot popped in. She wore a pleated khaki skirt instead of the usual pants, long enough to meet regulations, but short enough to show her thick thighs. They were gorgeous. “It’s crazy out there,” I told her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she replied, pulling the door closed behind her. She ducked straight into the attached bathroom. I sipped my soda and listened to her pee.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I asked.

“What’s that?” she asked, cracking open the door.

“What are you doing this weekend. Any plans?”

“Oh,” came Margot’s less-muffled voice. “I dunno, probably hang out with the girls. How about you.”

My heart rose in my chest and a flutter came to my throat but I soldiered on. These sorts of decisions are best made in the spur-of-the-moment, and one must act before reality settles back over you. “I was thinking of seeing a movie. Did you want to come?”

“What?” asked Margo. She flushed and opened the door.

She applied makeup in the mirror as I answered. “I asked if you want to see a movie. I’m going this weekend.”

“Oh,” repeated Margot. She smacked her lips together and made a pouty face. She was almost more beautiful in profile than head on. “You mean just the two of us?”

“Yeah.”

“Umm… I don’t know. Let me see. I’ll figure out what I’m doing and give you a call, how about that?”

“Yeah,” I said. I don’t know if she remembered that she didn’t have my number. Another swing, another miss. Story of my life.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Pet Shop Part 1

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

I glided into work 10 minutes early, feeling calm and relaxed. It was Friday, I was only scheduled for one shift, and I had a beautiful girl with a big bottle of wine waiting for me at home. Nothing could ruin a day like this one. I winked at my favorite boy on my way past the cages to the back room. He caught my eye and smiled back, the little minx.

I adjusted my visor and name tag in the undersized and overcrowded break room. It’s important to look nice; pride in your appearance gives you pride in your life. Everyone knows that, or should, anyway. And my appearance was superb, per usual. I was exactly the sort of girl I would want to talk to at a pet shop: cute, friendly, and inviting. I pulled my straight, brown hair back into a tight ponytail that gave my hair a lustrous sheen under the florescent lights. I had absolutely nailed my makeup before class, like 10/10, and barely had to touch up my cheeks and eyeliner. I used my favorite blush with a slight glitter effect. I wore the new shirt that management had finally ordered for me, one that fit nicely and showed off my chest, which I had arranged perfectly, thanks to the only good bra in the world. It didn’t pinch or squeeze and it didn’t look like a frumpy old-lady bra either. Of course, no one could see it, but they can see the confidence a good bra gives you. The old lady at the department store a few shops down told me that. She also told me to do little favors for my girlfriend, just to keep her happy and interested. It was that advice that led me to wear my cutest, lacy, pink panties underneath my drab work khakis. When I turned around, I could just barely see the outline around my butt. No doubt Danielle would be happily removing them with her teeth later. What a way to start the weekend!

But first there was the shift. I fastened my name tag to my chest, careful not to poke my bra with the pin. The name tag wasn’t a shitty type-and-tape job, mind you, this was a full-color, custom designed, engraved name tag, with my name, Tori (dotted with an heart), in cool blue on a white background. It was truly a name tag befitting the youngest assistant manager of a BoyWorks location. Everything in the store, or nearly everything, was white or chrome. It was all very futuristic and modern, and very, very now. Girls were jealous when I first got the job, more so when I told them about the benefits, and doubly so when I was promoted. BoyWorks had truly revolutionized the industry of boykeeping almost overnight with their apps. At the same time, they pushed out all the smaller boy shops with their more traditional services. The result was a staggeringly popular new brand. It seemed like boys had gone from being an antiquated and dying oddity to the hippest accessory almost overnight. And I was right here, on the front lines of the boy revolution. What a time to be alive!

I grabbed my tablet and headed out to the front line. People streamed through our open doors—the most eye-catching in the entire Southern Cherry Hills Mall. The iconic gear logo in white, backlit with cool blue, could stop people in their tracks. When we first opened, the line stretched past the pretzel shop, almost to the sunglasses kiosk. I walked past the rows of boys, past the app demo table, almost to the front doors when I spotted Margot. Margot was a sales associate, and as such worked for me. That said, she was a few years older than me and orders of magnitude cooler. She found clever ways to express herself with her hair, her nails, and she rolled up the sleeves of her work shirt over her shoulders. It was truly cool. But she had already made it her “thing,” so it couldn’t be my thing too.

She caught me staring. I played it cool and waltzed up to the front of the store, whistling. Not whistling, actually, but more like tuneless hissing. She totally noticed. How embarrassing.

I checked the docket and there were two appointments, but first I had some time to help an older woman wandering around the cages. “Ma’am, have you been helped?” I asked her.

“I’m just looking at the moment. Are all of these boys trained?” she asked.

I nodded. “They’ve been through the BoyWorks patented training system, a six-week intensive program at our headquarters in Gursy, hailed as the most humane program in the industry by the Commerce Division’s survey last year. It’s humane, but it’s rigorous too. You see, they use the BoyWorks patented chastity enforcers to help in the training. You can see them hanging from each boy’s boy parts, see?”

The woman peered into a cage. Her wide, oval glasses slipped down her wrinkled nose as she leaned in. Her hair was gathered in a tight bun held together with hair clips. Classic old lady style. She clutched her giant clutch over her belly roll and fiddled with the clasps. “I see that.”

“It’s the absolute latest in boy-rearing technology. Have you ever heard of a shock collar?”

The woman gasped and covered her chest with a long-nailed hand. “I’ve heard horror stories.”

I laughed instinctually, nervously. “I have heard that there were issues with the technology in the early days. But I can honestly tell you, in the three years I have been working here, I have never seen a serious malfunction of a device. Not only is the technology totally safe, it is proven effective in training centers around the country. And the best part is how easy it is. Come here,” I said, leading her to the demo station. Her fingers groped the clasps of her bag ever more urgently. She had sale written all over her face.

“This is the BoyWorks app. You just register the device with the app and voila, total control. Let me show you. Here we have the whole wall of boys. Which one do you want to play with?”

The woman was bashful, but decisive. “Maybe that one on the right, top row, third from the right.” It was my favorite one. He had a cute face that almost reminded me of my brother. His eyes pleaded no, but he being merchandise and me being a saleswoman, there wasn’t much to be done.

“Alright, I just hit his number and his information comes up. Now on the right you can see all the relevant stats: heart rate, temperature, perspiration and days since last release. From these inputs, the program is able to tell what mood he’s in or if he’s lying. See, it’s telling us that he’s nervous right now. How cute! I bet he’s in love with you already.”

The woman blushed.

“Down at the bottom you can see all the actions we can take. So let’s say he’s been a good boy, and he no doubt will be a very good boy for you. I mean look at the guy. So, let’s give him a little love. If I turn this up to 5, it will gently stimulate his pleasure centers through his prostate. It gives him a warm, fuzzy sensation. They compare it to a warm bath or how a dog feels being pet. See, he’s smiling. Isn’t that nice?

“Of course, there’s going to be certain reasons why you must discipline him. In the BoyWorks booklet that you receive free with your purchase, it suggests that at least once a week he receive some form of punishment simply to keep him focused and alert. So let’s say he didn’t fetch you something quick enough or didn’t come when you call. You could give him a little light shock. Let’s do a 2.”

The boy let out a little scream, barely loud enough to interest his neighbors.

“Trust me, if he’s sleeping, 2 is enough to wake him up. Isn’t that right, licker?”

“Yup, yup,” the boy yelped, loud as he could.

“You see, he gave the correct response. But let’s pretend like he hadn’t. Then we maybe turn the shock up to a 5. Do you want to press the button this time?”

The old woman babbled bashfully, “I couldn’t really,” she explained, “I only won this contest you see. I’m not the sort who would ordinarily be boy shopping. I’m an all-woman woman myself. Keeping boys is really a young persons’ thing.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” I agreed, “the culture has changed a lot. But let me ask you this, have you ever sat down to read and realized your glasses are across the room? Did you ever want something nice to eat but don’t have the inclination to make it? This boy is trained to do all of that. Now give him a little gittyup.”

She reached forward with a cautious hand and gave the screen a light touch. The effect was instant. The boy howled and grabbed for his crotch. He would have grabbed it too except that he had exhibited that sort of behavior in the past so we had shackled his hands to the front and his feet to the back of his cage. He let out a long series of whimpers.

“Do you think that would get the point across?” I asked her.

“Um… oh yes, that would work. That’s only a 5?”

“Only a 5.”

“My goodness. I can’t imagine. What a threat.” Was she smiling? Everyone knows that true Homos have no sympathy for boys. Could she have been telling the truth instead of just being bashful?

“BoyWorks really tries to provide every option available to the boyowner. We don’t want to limit any interaction because we know that each relationship is special. We only hope that each owner takes their responsibility seriously and treats their boy well. It’s very important to us.”

“Oh yes, of course,” she agreed. “It’s so sad to see boys mistreated.”

“Absolutely. I would never do that because I love boys. Ever since I was a little girl I would come look at the boys in the shop windows. I’ve always wanted my own, but, you know, these are something of a luxury item.”

“Oh of course. I only won a competition so I thought I might try it out.”

“Well how about this,” I offered, “Why don’t you loan one for a week, and then you can make up your mind if you want to keep him. Depending on what sort of promotion you won, the additional cost would be minimal. You just keep him around the house and bring him back if you don’t like him. Does that sound like a deal?”

Of course it did, so we got around to the choosing. I showed her the labels on each cage. Here was a cook, here a whipping boy, there an anal slut (the favorite type of the ultra-wealthy, or at least the ones with TV shows), but the woman had made up her mind the second she walked in. She picked my favorite, the cutest little licker we ever had in the shop. I pried his lips apart with my fingers, “See,” I showed her, “he only has molars left for chewing. The front of his mouth is smooth and wet. Believe me when I say that no-teeth is definitely the way to go. And this guy here has a fabulous tongue. You’re a very lucky woman.”

She leaned in close and whispered, “I’ve never even had a boy down there. Like I said, I’m not really Hetero, I just want to try.”

I winked at her. “No questions,” I said. “Just bring him back in one piece if you want your deposit,” I replied and handed her off to processing. That would be twenty-five bucks commission for the rental and another hundred if she kept the boy. That would buy the better part of a party dress with matching shoes. There was a little black number up on the second floor that looked stunning without going overboard sexy. Naturally it would just look silly on me, but I could always wear it to late, boozy parties. I didn’t mind grabbing a few extra eyes and neither did Danielle. And there were these black heels at the footwear store inlaid with the most gorgeous mauve. I’d just need matching lipstick and I’d have a real stunner. And that was just the first customer. What a job!

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Part 5

Femdom Roulette

Here's a new game to play. I'm calling it Femdom Roulette.

Download link for images

Stats on the deck

Preview the images on imagefap

My Goddess has started graduate school in another state, so we have decided to make this a long-distance relationship for the moment. It also presented an opportunity for me to try longer stints in chastity. This game is a way for me to relieve some of that sexual tension while ratcheting up the femdom thinking and feeding my sub brain.

Here is how I am allowed to enjoy myself in the weeks between seeing my lady love. This is a compilation of 177 images of a semi- to totally-pornographic nature that sissies are allowed to view. It started out as 200 but some of those images were rejected by Goddess. She says I can earn them back through good behavior, so we will see. There are 0 nude women and 0 submissive or degraded women. However, there are many images of white guys in submission either to women or superior men. There are also a few self-shot boners just to infuriate sissies in chastity.

Here's how to play. Load the images into a slideshow where you can set the time and make sure it's random. I use Windows Media Center. Set the timer to 60 seconds. This is the only way I am allowed to look at porn. If I want to perv over some low necklines, I have to see a few sissy boys and a few big alpha dicks. Such is life for a sissy.

Now, not being able to touch my dick directly at any point, I can only masturbate the other way. For this game, I use 4 dildos of increasing size, 2 tapered plugs and 2 dildos. I start with the smallest one. If there is a woman on the screen, I am allowed to play any way I want. However, if an alpha male is on the screen, I need to either take the entire plug, or I have to keep the dildo moving the whole time. This can be arousing for 1 minute, but it can be downright excruciating if you get alpha after alpha coming up. If you see three alpha males in a row, it is time to move up to the next biggest toy. If the image shows someone licking feet or presenting feet to be licked, you must lick. In my case I suck on a different dildo for the duration of the minute.

Think of the images as a random number generator that tells you what to do for the minute. Also consider that the images are dependent events, meaning that the more "good" or "bad" images you see, the fewer of that type are left in the deck. So, a session might start with a lot of alpha males, but that means you get to perv on more women later on. Rolling 3 alphas in a row seems to happen every 20-30 mins which feels about right to me.

Because it's essentially a random event generator, the game can be modified to include any rules that turn you on. For example, sometimes instead of sucking cock for feet, I will have to suck every time there's a black person on screen, male or female. This leads to a much higher proportion of oral fixation, which makes it harder for me to concentrate, and sends me into sub space faster. You can use the stats link to determine the starting probability of any kind of start. I've compared a few percentages on the right. Let me know if you have an idea of any other handy percentages you'd like to see.

My biggest gripe with searching for femdom porn is all the other fetishes and shock porn I end up seeing in the course my search. There's also no good way to find a lot of non-nude women without coming across nude images too. Inevitably I am bound to see things that will break the mental world I like to create when writing and feeding the sub brain. This game makes sure that when I look up images, I have a consistent experience. I can also become desensitized to these images and starved of the nudity I crave, so the visual impact of Goddess will be even more mindblowing when I see her next. This is also an attempt to manage the Coolidge effect of viewing porn.

This is also a way to push my boundaries. I find when I'm doing physically painful or difficult things alone, it's hard for me to push past my own pain to really achieve sub space. Because there are set rules to using dildos to this game, I can end up in a situation where I have to continue fucking myself way longer than I would normally be able to. Because I am chained to the duration of the changes, I can really push my limits. The randomness is also deliciously difficult to handle. You could get an easy, lovely masturbation session, or a true punishment of pain. You come to appreciate just how long a minute is.

Our First Domestic Part 5

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Part 4

A couple of hours later, the buzz had turned to sleepiness, and Boy’s face was starting to swell, badly. The sound of Mom shutting the front door sent a spike of fear through my gut. The bleeding had only stopped for only a few minutes at a time and now some clear snot was starting to come out with the blood, slow and viscous. To his credit, Boy held his tongue, but his face couldn’t lie. “What’s this? What’s going on here?” Boy peeked out through squinted eyes. “What happened to you?”

He played dumb. I played dumb. Mom started winding up like she always does, her voice growing shriller. Her first call was to the school, which, of course, was closed. That’s when she went to the internet, finding Mrs. Lamley’s home number. “She wasn’t at class today, actually. I was going to call you tomorrow. If she misses two more sessions, she will fail out of this semester completely and have to repeat eleventh grade.”

From there to the hospital it was all Annabelle this, Annabelle that, irresponsible, lying, cheating, this and that. Abuse. Total verbal abuse. She ought to be in jail, the kind of mother she was. A miniature tyrant. Well, not that minature, really, just insignificant. To be honest, I was a little scared when we got to the hospital. She was mad. Really, really mad, like I had hardly ever seen. She was talking to me like she did the time she hit me in the parking lot. Utter tyrant. A grown woman hitting a child!

Everyone in the waiting room heard her angry snarling and some of them even looked over. The nurse at the counter said, “We have many women already waiting to be seen. This isn’t life threatening, so it’s going to be some time.” She fumed in her jacket, rubbing her hands, looking around, avoiding my gaze until she turned her full attention to me.

“Come on.” She dragged me out into the night. It smelled cold, like the snow that was threatening to fall. We stood just beyond the lighted rectangles projected by the waiting room lights which twisted and danced as people came and went through the double doors. “What in the world were you thinking?”

“God, Mom, you need to relax. You’re going to burst a blood vessel.”

“Answer me. Right now.”

“I just didn’t want to go today, okay? I’m sick of how they treat me. You know that Mrs. Lamley is a pervert? She asks us all about sex ‘cause she gets off on our stories.”

“Annabelle Marie! You stop lying this instant. I’m sick of hearing your excuses and stories about how everyone else is responsible except for you. Tell me what happened.”

Was she drunk? Her breath smelled awful. I said, “It was just a stupid accident. I didn’t want to tell you… I mean, I know that you’ll just get mad and yell at me.”

“Damn right I’m going to yell at you, young lady. What did you do to my boy?”

“Well that’s not helping, Mom.”

Her lips pursed into an angry, wrinkled, pink coin, and her cheeks puffed out. She looked like a trumpet player without a horn. Her arms shot up suddenly, but came back down with a loud, exasperated slap of jacket on jacket, and she took a few steps in a tight circle. She looked like a frustrated penguin. “Hannie, just tell me what happened.”

“Okay, okay,” I relented. “I wanted to drink, so I asked him to open a bottle of wine for me, and he hit himself in the face with it. Okay? I’m sorry, I just wanted to see what it was like.”

Her eyes pierced mine. For a long time she let me wither under her stare, but I was already in too deep. I stood my ground. “Hannie, that makes no god-damn sense. He hit himself in the face?”

Uh-huh.

“With a cork. Hard enough to break his nose.”

Well the bottle opener, but...

“HANNIE!”

It was enough to turn most of the heads in the waiting room. How embarrassing. Right in public, in front of everyone.

“You think I was born goddamned yesterday? Do you? You’ve already earned yourself such a grounding, do you really want to make this worse for yourself? Were you thinking about going to college sometime soon? How are you paying for that?”

I didn’t want to. In fact, knowing mom, telling her the truth would be the worst thing to do. All those other girls with her boy. “Mrs. Lamley.”

“Oh don’t start that shit again.” She stomped. Like an angry child, she stomped, but if I’m honest, I flinched. She was a large woman, much bigger than me. It was just like the day in the parking lot, her arms flapping around like a stupid, flightless bird.

“Stop it, Mom. Calm down. I was just having a little fun. I got a little carried away.”

She was still again, breathing hard. “What kind of fun.”

“You know… that kind of fun.”

“With his face?”

Uh-huh.

“Hannie, you stupid, insolent, immature, conniving…” her open palms came down like rain in a storm, here, there, all over my head and shoulders, several to my face. She didn’t stop until the paramedics pulled her away. I told the police that I didn’t want to press charges, but I could use a ride home. They told me to take a taxi, which exhausted almost half of my summer fun fund. I paid the driver, pulled on my winter boots, and trudged to Alex’s house, partly because it was near, and partly because she felt safe. Her Mom didn’t ask too many questions. She mostly seemed happy that Alex had a “girlfriend,” as she liked to put it.

I laid with Alex in bed. Plain, old Alex. Curious, pervy Alex. She asked me all about my afternoon and, when I had finished griping about Mom, listened with rapture as I explained the party. She didn’t seem to mind or notice that it was an attempt to get back in with my friends, away from her kind of social stigma. She wanted all the details, colors, feelings, smells. It wasn’t until then that I realized, I was the only one who missed out on a cunt lapping. I couldn’t believe it. I even told her about the little bath at the end. “Just like in a porno.” We each kept our hands to ourselves, playing like clam-cracking otters in the sun.

It was now that I made my third and worst, as the judge put it, “lapse of judgement.” I politely disagreed. Isn’t it just like adults to fill your head with stories, stories about brave people standing up for what’s right in the world. But when you do it yourself, when you threaten their preconceived notions, their narrow worldview, suddenly being right isn’t good enough. Be brave they say but what they mean is stand up for me. Don’t stand up for yourself. It’s really a testament to their ineptitude that I’m so cynical at such a young age.

I tried to sit through class. It was easy enough to lie and say I forgot my backpack or I lost my books or whatever, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Boy at home with that monster. How cruel she was to him. How mean. She probably took her anger out on him. Fix the nose so I can beat him black and blue, she probably said. And what was I going to do tonight? Stay at school? Stay with Alex? Her mom was bound to start asking questions eventually. And what would happen to Boy? I thought about Mom’s smug face, the arrogant sneer she wore as she raped poor Boy’s ass almost every night.

By lunch I had made up my mind. I bribed Annie to drive me by buying her lunch. I tried to just buy her and sandwich but she said that if she was missing a period of class she would need to be reimbursed for it. Another week of fun gone from the summer fun fund. Boy would have to start paying me back.

We sat outside of the house for a good half hour, parked down the street like in a TV show about cops. No movement. Nothing. But then, that’s how it always looked. Mom was all about fitting in, not calling attention to ourselves. “We need to get back to class eventually,” insisted Annie. Fine, fine. I hopped the fence and used to spare key to open up the back door. From there I crept to the obnoxiously loud garage door. Her car was gone. Perfect. But Boy was gone too. He wasn’t in his kennel, in the kitchen, Mom’s room, my room, the basement, nowhere.

“Boy!” I called fruitlessly. “Boy! Where did she take you? What did she do to you?” There was a noise, a bang on the wall. Was that the garage door? I hid behind the basement door and listened. Nothing. No clacking of hard shoes on hardwood floor. My heart was beating so fast, I couldn’t be sure if I heard the second thump. My breathing seemed to fill my ears, like the loudest sound in the world. She would kill me. She might legitimately kill me if I stole her Boy from her. But then I heard it again, and I knew it was coming from the wall below me, in the basement.

The basement was unfinished. It had dirty red poles all over sticking into hard, cold concrete, supporting the house above. With all the dust and spiders, I almost never came down here. Maybe a few times to use Mom’s stationary bike. It was boring: no walls, no furnishings, just white, insulated walls. The north wall was cold to the touch from the stairs to the back wall, but the back wall was not. “Boy?” I shouted, and the wall thumped back. “Hold on!” I cried. I felt my way up and down the wall all the way to the other corner and back. Finally I found a crack between a stud and the insulation. I peeled it back to reveal a small door.

Inside was like the end of a horror movie. It had the same freezing concrete floor, but the walls were finished and covered in various equipment: shelves of whips and dildos, restraints built straight into the wall, racks of ropes and paddles, and even a small bathroom in the corner. Ropes and chains hung from the ceiling and protruded from the floor. In one corner, boy sat upright in a large, wooden chair, bound hand and foot, in nothing but his cage with a gag and hood on. He had been banging on the wall with his head and had left a clear red imprint. On the other side of the room was a cage with a thin man secured within. A pipe led from the ceiling into his mouth, and another led out of him into the wall. The room smelled like the school bathroom an hour after lunchtime.

“Boy! Are you okay?” I asked, running to his side, pulling off his mask. He coughed a little as I removed the rubber ball from his mouth.

“I’m okay,” he assured me. His eyes were sad. “Grab the key. In that box on the shelf.”

I undid the bindings around his feet and ankles. One of his feet had gone purple all over. He asked me, “Are there any other keys in there?”

“Just one,” I replied, unlocking the cage on the other side of the room.

“Oh.”

“What were you expecting?” I asked.

“I just thought there might be, you know, my key,” he explained, looking down.

“Okay,” I said, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

I reached into the cage and undid the bindings on the other boy. He looked old enough to technically be a man. As soon as his hand was free, it shot up to the harness on his head which he unlatched, freeing the tube from his mouth. A splash of water hit the ground followed by the poor creature’s hacking coughs. When he removed the harness from his head I could see his whole face. Though flushed and haggard, he looked familiar. He sat against the back of his cage and stared at me with huge eyes.

Boy had gotten up from his chair and started rubbing the many welts and strap marks on his skin. “That woman is crazy,” he opined, “like seriously crazy. Dangerous.”

The man in the cage squeaked, “Please have mercy. I’m happy where I am. Please don’t hurt me.”

I crouched down to his level to see him face-to-face. He looked so familiar but I couldn’t remember ever meeting him. How long had he been down here? He looked so haggard and pale. Just… unwell, really. Pathetic, actually, cowering and pleading the way he was. “Hush, hush,” I said, “stop that. Who are you?”

“She calls me Boy. Nothing special. Please don’t hurt me. Don’t kill me. I’ll stay right where I am. Just lock the door now.” He shifted uncomfortably and pulled at the tube sticking into his ass, but did not remove it. “I never did anyone any harm, I promise.”

What had Mom done to this one? He was genuinely, legitimately scared of me. “Stop that. Please calm down. Please. Take a breath. How long have you been down here?”

He shook his head, “A long time. I stopped trying to keep count. I just do what Jenine tells me. She told me she would keep me safe. Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s just at work,” I explained, “everything is fine. You don’t have to be afraid of her anymore.”

“Afraid?” he mouthed. “No, Jenine keeps me safe. She keeps me safe from the world.”

I didn’t understand. “What are you so afraid of?”

The man in the cage shared my confusion. “The bands… the warrior bands. Who cut off your dick and make you choke on it until you bleed out. Or are you one of them? Please, I don’t want any freedom. I just want to stay safe here with Jenine.”

His sniveling was actually getting pretty annoying. “I said cut it out!” I demanded. “Stop pleading and all that shit. Please! Just tell me who you are and what you’re doing down here.”

“You—you’re not here to kill me?”

No!

“Jenine told me that the world had… changed since I’d been down here. That men weren’t allowed in public anymore. That we were hunted on the streets, hounded and persecuted unless we had an owner. She told me she was keeping me safe down here, away from the mad world. Are—are men safe now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think Mom was lying to you.”

“Mom?” he repeated. “Jenine is your mom?”

I nodded. “For the last sixteen years anyway.”

The man continued rubbing his jaw. “Sixteen years. Could that really be?”

Now I was in the dark, and I hated being in the dark. “What are you getting at?”

“It’s just,” he said, “before I was locked down here, she made me cum one last time. It was strange, she kept it all, in a cup instead of making me eat it. I guess that could have been sixteen years ago…”

He looked so familiar. Just like me. My stomach turned. “Oh my god.” Then a gush of water came pouring out of the hose descending from the ceiling. Boy stood by the toilet in the corner of the room, his hand still on the flusher. I was going to be sick. “Did that come from there?”

The man in the cage nodded. “Every toilet in the house. I’ve been processing Jenine’s waste for all of these years. And yours, I guess. She feeds me occasionally too, and there’s the injections, but I only drink toilet water.”

Every time. For sixteen years. My stomach turned properly this time, all over the floor. How disgusting. I took Boy but I left the other wretched creature in his cage, in the little room. I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

Annie was still in the car, although she claimed that she almost left. We went back to school. Where else was there to go? Mom would be home eventually, and when that happened, I needed to be around adults. Amy’s mom would be helpless in the face of Mom’s fury. I turned to the last woman I would otherwise trust: Mrs. Lamley. She had us wait in her office until class was over. I kept playing it through in my head: Mom getting home, going down to her sick dungeon, finding Boy gone, only that older, wretched Boy. She would know where we went. She always did. But this was more than her usual insane rage: this was bigger, a rupture of normal. Even the most supremacist judge using the full powers of the Sexual Freedoms Act couldn’t defend her. There would be no going back.

When Lamley finally arrived, she had the school resource officer with her. “Mom has been mistreating him from the first day we got him. Verbal abuse. Physical violence. Even sexual abuse.”

“Okay, okay, Mrs. Flores,” she told me. “Slow down and explain yourself.”

I told her about the spankings, the totally over-the-top punishments for even the slightest infractions. “She beat him for eating food, if you can believe that!”

The officer, a stern-looking young woman with pale skin and brown, straight hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, reminded me, “If he didn’t have permission to eat, he was stealing, and it’s perfectly legal to punish boys for theft.”

“Well is it legal to fuck them? Because that was her favorite punishment!”

“Like, in the… rear? With a blunt instrument?”

Boy nodded.

“I see.”

“And that’s not all. Just today I discovered that she’s been keeping another Boy in the basement, along with a whole bunch of pain implements. There’s no doubt that she has been torturing boys down there.”

“Is this true?” the office asked Mrs. Lamely. Lamley shrugged.

“Of course it’s true. Go to the house and see for yourself!”

“Hold on. Hold on,” said the officer, “We are going to have to go down to the station and take this report properly.” We rode in the back of her patrol car like criminals. And maybe we were. I had stolen Boy from my mother, stolen him for his own safety. Technically I was a criminal, and he stolen property. I tried to remember not to incriminate myself.

But when we got down there, we were swarmed by police, separated, and questioned in different rooms. They had so many questions, coming so quickly. I tried to just be honest and help them however I could, but I made a mistake. I told them everything, including the time I took Boy over to Becky’s house after school. I named names: Becky, Mattie, Stacey, Carlie, Annie, Chloe, and even the new girl, Mandy. I didn’t even realize it until later that night, laying on a cold bunk in a cell across from Boy, in protective custody. “I think I made a mistake,” I told him.

“You saved me,” he said. “How can that be a mistake?”

When they sent a task force to the house the next morning, Mom was long gone. Most of the furniture was missing, the house was in disarray, and the basement was empty. No dungeon, no whips, no chains, no physical evidence, and no sign of my possible father. In the absence of a defendant, absence of evidence and absence of ownership, Boy should have been released back into the custody of the Mangenic Corporation, but there was one wrinkle: thanks to my testimony, there were seven new defendants. The state had no choice but to press charges.

They started with Mandy, the disgusting tramp. I could have written the trial, it was so predictable. It was basically the same trial that you see on the news night after night. I took the stand and told the truth, that I had delivered an unwitting boy into the clutches of my friends, and they played out their gang rape of their own design. Boy, of course, couldn’t testify on his own behalf, but the judge let him submit a letter in private. When Mandy took the stage, she said exactly what she needed to. “He was crazy,” she testified, “totally crazy. You could see the mad lust in his eyes when he approached you. Hannie brought him over already unlocked. They must have been in cahoots. She said we were just going to have a fun party, a quick get-together after school, but it all went sour. We just wanted to have a little fun, but she insisted that Boy be—ahem—sexually free. There was nothing any of us could have done. He overpowered me first, and then one by one raped us all. The other girls tried to get away but Hannie threatened us. Everyone knows that her Mom is dangerous. Murderous. Hannie locked the doors and let the boy prey on us one by one. It was horrible, staring down the bobbing shaft of his… his penis. Please don’t make me say any more.”

After Mandy they called Mattie, then Stacey, Carlie, Annie, Chloe and finally Becky. They all told the same story. They all lied through their teeth. Boy sat silently, his face down, his eyes full of tears. The judge had stern words for us. That I was to be punished particularly hard for playing the victim and for encouraging delinquency among boys. My “reputation” from school had been considered, along with my penchant for lying. Not only had I led a horse to water, I had encouraged him to drink. Lies, all of it. I was sentenced to full-time rehabilitation for no less than a year.

Boy got the worst of it though. Poor boy. He got the only sentence for rape: castration. I never saw him again after the trial. I’ll never forget his face when they pulled him away from me, crying, pleading, begging. It was startling from a boy who had always been so stoic.

I tried a few times to find him, when I grew older and had established a good life for myself. It’s hard though, for a woman with a checkered past to find a boy. The court records said he was sent to Stoneyham Rehabilitation Center, but they had no record of receiving him. I never heard from my mom again either. Maybe she fled the country. Who knows. But some days, after a long day of work, when I go home to my lonely apartment, I think about them, the only family I ever had. The one I couldn’t avoid and the one I couldn’t keep. Despite growing into a proper, straight lady, I never found love, never settled down. A woman could never satisfy me, because my heart belongs to a boy. Do me a favor, though. Please don’t tell a soul.