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The remainder of the ride is pleasant, relaxed. I've been fed a large breakfast, I'm properly registered and everything has been settled aboveboard. Amy will receive her certification in the mail, providing her a year of professional accreditation.

Her work to earn permanent accreditation, however, is only half-done. Under the law, a professional hypnotist must both prove their ability to provide mental reprogramming to a volunteer, and their ability to provide hypnotic therapy, as well.

She has three options for the latter. She can either deprogram someone involuntarily reprogrammed, or she can perform therapeutic hypnosis. The latter is used, and used well, for people with certain criminal inclinations or mental conditions.

From the news articles I've read, it's been used to help kleptomaniacs break the cycle, help rape victims overcome trauma, and so forth. It's been proven effective for helping people lead better, healthier, happier, and broadly more fulfilling lives.

As a result, it's a mandatory feature of earning accreditation that will last a lifetime, unless you do something criminal and lose it. Given Amy's interest in wanting to use it to help people, I'm confident my best friend and owner wouldn't do that.

When we reach her parents' house, my eyes flutter open, feeling the car decelerate as she turns into the driveway. I sit up, and I stretch, as Amy looks over at me. She turns the ignition off as she smiles at me, warmly, “Enjoy the ride, faggot?”

“Yep!” I answer, quickly unbuckling my safety belt and slipping out of the car as she gets out, and I circle around to stand beside her. “So, what's gonna change in our relationship now that I'm your legal property?” Amy tilts her head and hums.

“Well, I probably won't use your legal name, anymore, fag,” she says, tapping my lips with her fingertip, “Unless there are kids around, you will never hear me use your legal name, slut, unless you expressly tell me that you want me to use that.”

“Yes, I own you,” she preempts my question, her finger against my lips, “but you're also my best friend and I fucking love you, so if you ever want me to use your proper name, your childhood name, you need to tell me, otherwise, I won't use it.”

“Okay,” I smile, when she removes her finger from my lips, which tells me I'm allowed to speak, “Thank you, Amy. I don't mind not hearing it if you're going to call me nice things instead, but I'd like to hear my name sometimes, as well, please.”

Amy steps close, staring into my eyes warmly, smiling as she puts her arms around me and hugs me so tight it lifts me off the ground for a moment. She squeezes hard, and I hug her back appreciatively as she pulls back. “You don't need please.”

“I appreciate that you want to be politely submissive,” she kisses my cheek, “but you don't have to be, for certain things.” I'm delighted by the hug, and by the assurance that she values my human rights, and that that's not something I've lost.

“Thanks, Amy,” I reply, and she kisses me on the cheek again.

“You're welcome, faggot. Now, also, to be clear,” Amy says, straightening and stepping back, “My parents do not get you without asking me. You are free-use to your family and friends, most namely me, but not to my family. I control their use.”

“You may still have to suck my Dad's dick — my Mom doesn't have one, so that'd be a strap-on, but she may want you to,” Amy says, “but you are a cock slave. No ass, no pussy, just cock, faggot.” I nod firmly as I listen, accepting Amy's decisions.

“Understood, Mistress!” I reply cheekily, and she promptly turns me around and shoves me against her car, and slams her hand down on my ass. “Ah!” I arch my spine and whimper in pleasure and pain while she spanks me thrice on each cheek.

“Cheeky little faggot!” Amy scolds me, but her tone is playful, and soon her breath is at my neck, and her teeth, as she nips the nape. “You'll get ... rewarded ... for that, from now on, you little fucking faggot. Cause you liked that, didn't you, slut?”

“Yes!” I hiss the word out, and she smirks as she bites my ear, nipping just enough to hurt.

“Fucking knew it,” Amy's voice is coloured with an audible grin, and her hands slide between my legs and grab my balls, squeezing firmly enough to make me arch, then releasing. “Inside, faggot. Now. I feel like doing some pleasure reading.”

Author's Note:
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