No

When we reach the Goodheart house, I strip outside the gate, surrendering my clothes to Amelia. She takes them readily, letting each folded garment stack neat until my shoes sit on top. Once I'm nude, she hands them back and opens the gate.

I follow her in, then set my clothes on the porch, underneath the awning. If it rains, they won't get wet, but I'm forbidden to wear clothes on their property. Once I set my clothes aside, Amy leads me in, and we head down the hall to Amy's room.

As we do, a man steps out of Dean's room, with warm golden skin and black hair, and dark brown eyes. The door still open, the knob still in his hand, his eyes widen as he stares at me. His gaze drifts down my body, unabashed, taking in every bit.

“Uh, Dean, why is there a naked coed in your house?” he asks.

“That's just Amy's best friend,” Dean answers from inside his room, “Relax, Emilio, it's cool. He's just not allowed to wear clothes, is all.” Emilio half-turns and stares through the door, almost certainly staring blankly at Dean in response to that.

“Not allowed to wear clothes?” Emilio challenges.

“He's a legally registered cock slave,” Dean replies casually, “It's a recent transition in his life. His parents decided that he, as a cock slave, should not wear clothes in their house. Our families are close, so, we extended the rule to apply here, also.”

“He ... oh,” Emilio starts, then stops, then starts again, before he turns and walks up to me, jerking his hand out. “Hi. I am Emilio Ignacio Gaitán y Hermoza. I've been Dean's roommate for the last four years. I don't really know much about, er ...”

“Cock slaves?” Amy prompts, and he turns to her, “Hi. Amelia Goodheart. Friends call me Amy, so does he.” Amy tilts her head toward me, as Emilio offers his hand afresh, shaking hands with her in the same manner as he shook hands with me.

“He's my property,” she informs him, “He does not answer to his legal name, any longer. That name is only for documents of a formal nature, and for first meetings, like this. His name is Nico Grennan, we've been best friends since we were kids.”

“So, um ... what do I call him, then?” Emilio asks, not bothering to ask me, directly. Bare minimum, me being a cock slave and her owning me, he gets some of the basic etiquette to consider. He knows to show more respect to Amy than to me.

“He'll answer comfortably to bitch, fag, faggot, slut, or whore,” Amy replies informatively, “He used to be very much shy. I've reprogrammed him to be more comfortable accepting and answering to the things that he is most into being called.”

“Oh, right. Dean mentioned you're an aspiring hypnotist,” he says, looking over at me, then back to her, “So, you mentally reprogrammed him? Completely? Man, I would have never known he had been brainwashed. That is kind of remarkable.”

“Is he generally allowed to speak?” he asks, and Amy nods.

“Of course. He simply knows his place and he has always been very courteous,” she replies, “It was my job to make proper introductions, as his Owner, but we are also still best friends, too. I didn't mute him and turn him into a mindless puppet.”

“Yea,” I smile, waving gently, to show I can talk and move freely, “I just wanted to wait for Amy to introduce me properly, and then wanted to wait my turn. It's rude to interrupt.” Emilio nods, looking over into the bedroom, at Dean, then back.

“Okay, that's fair. Yea,” Emilio concedes, “So, um, what's up?”

“Amy and I just came from the community administrative building, now waiting on a decision from the ordinance board,” I answer, “so we'll be here until at least lunchtime. Decision won't be until after. Hey Dean! Will you help with lunch?”

“Yeah, sure, I'll help Amy feed you!” Dean calls, and Emilio whips back around and stares through the door.

“You'll help feed him? The fuck? He can't eat by himself?” Emilio asks, incredulously.

“He's on a milk-exclusive diet, aside from chocolate treats,” Dean answers, “One serving of milk isn't sufficient for a good, healthy lunch. Amy produces a good amount, but one serving isn't enough.” Emilio blinks a few times, before that clicks.

“You two both produce milk?” his voice raises, a little, then raises, more, “DUDE! I AM A NUTRITIONAL BIOLOGIST. YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME YOU PRODUCE MILK!” I jerk back reflexively and Amy covers her ears teasingly, giggling.

“Ahem,” Emilio clears his throat and coughs into his hand, lowering his voice back to the normal, appropriate speaking volume. “Dude, you know I would love to run some tests on phallic milk and test phallic milk production characteristics.”

“Why do you think I didn't tell you, Emilio?” Dean challenges, “I don't want you coming to my room twice daily to milk me, man.” Emilio's cheeks suddenly turn very warm, very visibly pink, as his eyes widen and he stares through the door.

“I-I, uh ...” He coughs into his hand. “Fair. I can become ... excitable. I would have absolutely asked, though, for consent. I'd absolutely not have been an asshole ... insufferable, maybe, but not an asshole!” Dean answers with a cheerful laugh.

“Okay, fine,” Dean answers, “Not today, though. Amy's slut needs his lunch. Once we get back to school, though, you can use me as your doctoral research project.” Emilio, from my perspective of him in profile, seems to be singularly excited.

“So, Amy, what're we doing until lunch?” I ask, turning to Amy.