Misses Goodheart Gets Home

As Dean resumes his sandwich and Amy eats her lunch, she encourages me to lean against her. She pats her thigh, and so I lean against her chair and rest my head on her thigh. When she puts a hand on my cheek, I close my eyes and I rest, there.

The sensation is unexpectedly pleasant, kneeling on the floor at my best friend's side while she eats her lunch. Her hand on my face, stroking my cheek with her thumb, idly. I breathe in deeply, taking in the scent of clean, fresh air, drifting in.

The sound of the front door makes my spine arch, but Amy holds her hand on my cheek. I tilt my head a little, listening, but the hand on my face tells me stay, in the silent language of ownership. I don't have the right to get up. Not anymore.

“Amy, Dean, I'm home!” calls the voice of Cordelia Goodheart, Amy's mother, bringing groceries into the kitchen before she freezes on seeing me. “Oh! Nico! I didn't realise you were going to be coming over to visit this morning. You okay?”

“Mom, we've spoken about this,” Amy answers for me, “The faggot is my property, now. You should expect him here far more often. Daily, really, because he still lives with his family, and they're taking care of him, as always, but he is mine.”

“Hmm,” Misses Goodheart replies, “well. I suppose he does seem to be fairly content and at ease, right now, and he DID volunteer. Sorry, Amy, dear. It's just such a sharp shift, it's probably going to take me a few days to adjust to the change.”

“Of course, that's natural, Mom,” Amy replies, continuing to eat her lunch, “but to be clear, he's my property. If anyone else wants to use him for any reason, in any context, they'll need my permission, because my property means my rules.”

“As it should be,” Mom nods, “You hear that, Dean? Don't try to ...”

“Relax, Mom!” Dean interjects before she can launch into an entire lecture, “I already negotiated with Amy to get access. You can remind me from now on when her laundry needs doing or her room needs to be cleaned, just so you are aware.”

“Hmm, well, then,” Misses Goodheart says, “Perhaps I should check to see if your new chores need doing before I unload the rest of the groceries from the car. Amy, is your room clean and your laundry done?” Amy nods promptly in response.

“Okay, then,” Misses Goodheart says, then turns around and leaves the kitchen, returning a few times to carry in bags of groceries. I listen as she puts them away, having been around their house enough to know by now where everything goes.

I listen as Dean gets up from the table, puts his dishes in the dishwasher, stretches and groans. Footsteps come over to the table, again, and I hear his voice. “I'm going to go to your room and check just to be certain. May as well keep up on that.”

“Mm-Hmm,” Amy replies around or more accurately through a mouthful of food. I listen as Dean walks away, heading for Amy's bedroom with a stride that speaks of a new sense of responsibility. When Amy finishes, her fingers slide off my skin.

“By the way, Mom,” Amy says, as she stands up and collects her dish. I open my eyes and look up, pushing myself up to my feet, and following. She glances over her shoulder at me, and smiles. I'm glad I'm still permitted to walk like a normal guy.

As a hypnotist, and as my Owner, she'd be within her rights to order me to walk on all fours. Fortunately for me, Amy has never been that kind of person. Misses Goodheart turns when Amy addresses her, looking to me, then back to Amy. “Hm?”

“My faggot is forbidden to wear clothes in my room. I would like it if he were forbidden to wear clothing anywhere in the house,” Amy says, “His parents have already instituted such a rule at their house, and he'd produce less laundry, for that.”

“Hmm,” Misses Goodheart said, looking at me, then back to Amy. I've always said I think Hmm is one of her most favourite words, because it's something she says a lot. I've always taken it to mean she is just someone who thinks comprehensively.

“Not yet, dear,” Misses Goodheart says finally, after a long moment, “I do not mind, but you will have to also discuss that with your father. The house isn't solely mine. If it were, I'd give Nico permission to strip right here, but it isn't just mine.”

“Of course. Thanks, Mom,” Amy says, turning to me, jerking her head as Dean emerges from her room, offering Amy one brief thumb's up before going to his own. “Come on, faggot, let's return to my room for now, until you have to get home.”

“Okay, Amy!” I answer, smiling happily and following her to her room. I shed my clothes fast and easy, crawling onto her bed as soon as she lays back down on it. I lay between her legs, and she lifts one, resting her foot comfortably on my ass.

Amy doesn't pull her cock out this time. She simply rests one hand on my head, sliding her fingers into my hair, pulling me to rest my head on her lap. I close my eyes and lay my cheek against the swell of her cock, breathing in Amy's scent.

She strokes my scalp with her fingers, brushing her thumb across my cheek. Amy breathes in deeply, and releases a long, loud sigh, coloured with the tones of her contentment. “This is fucking wonderful. You know I love you, right, faggot?”

“Yes, Amy,” I answer immediately, without hesitation, “I love you, too. Obviously.” Had I not loved her, none of this shift in my life would even be happening. I wouldn't have consented to being brainwashed, consented to the permanence of it.

Author's Note:
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