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.

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