Proud Amy!

“You know, slut,” Amy said, making me smile at her as we reached my room, “I am actually really proud of you right now. Like, super proud of you.” I blinked and looked at her quizzically, furrowing my eyebrows and tilting my head a little bit.

“Why?”

“You are bare nude right now, and you've got total UNM energy,” she replies, and I stare at her blankly, “Okay, you have heard of ENM, right?” I blink at her again and shake my head. Amy giggles a little at my ignorance, shaking hers back.

“Okay. ENM means Embarrassed Nude Male,” she says, “Last week, you would have been ashamed and humiliated right now, totally embarrassed being required to be nude, even just in front of me and we've known each other like forever.”

“You're not, though. You aren't complaining, you aren't trying to cover up,” she says, “you're just ... nude. That's it. Just nude. Unashamed Nude Male energy, total UNM boy, right now, you whore!” I smile happily when she calls me a whore.

“I mean, you did reprogram me!” I reply, but she shakes her head, “No?”

“I did not include be proud to walk around bare nude in your reprogramming, slut,” she says firmly, “This right here, this casual confidence and comfort? That's all you, and it suits you so fucking well. I mean, have you looked at you, fag?”

“I do own a mirror,” I point at it. She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me.

“I mean have you really looked at you, you dumbass slut!” she shoots back, dragging me to my mirror and then grabbing my balls. My eyes widen and I arch, as her hand travels up the length of my cock, and she makes it sway in the reflection.

“You have an incredible body. Your cock is uncommonly large for a boy of your height, whore,” she tells me unabashedly, before her hand moves from my cock and she hugs me tight from behind. “I've always said you needed more confidence.”

“And you didn't reprogram me for that?” I ask and she shakes her head, “Huh. It must be a side effect of the brainwashing, then, rather than a direct impact. Does that help your research thesis, at all?” Amy blinks, and then her eyes light up fast.

“Ooh! Secondary results!” she hums, bouncing on the balls of her feet with new vibrancy, “That's an excellent theory, you know! Thank you, whore! I'll credit you with having posited the theorem in my paper. Once I've studied more candidates.”

“Of course. Empirical science demands a sampling of more than one person,” I reply, and Amy nods. “I'm happy that I can be useful to you, in your professional aspirations. I've wanted this for you for so long. You deserve to be successful, Amy.”

“You're definitely going to be useful for that,” Amy says, “but I don't love you because you're useful. I love you, you slut, because you stood for me when no one else but Dean was in my corner, on hypnosis, and you stood up for me in school.”

“I don't need you to be useful for me to love you and want you,” Amy assures me, “If you want to be deprogrammed and you decided you just wanted to be best friends, even without these new benefits, I would readily accept that to keep you.”

“You're precious to me. You are more than usefulness, faggot,” she declares firmly. My cheeks warm, and I smile bright, nodding to her in answer. I lean into her embrace, and rest my head back on her shoulder, allowing Amy to have control.

“Yea, I don't think I'm ever going to have a problem with this,” I say, my mind wandering, ruminating, “Things are much, much better now. You really saved me from a bland life of inhibition and unreasonable shame at my own ... preferences.”

“Even if I don't ask to be reprogrammed, again, uh, my life is forever altered,” I admit. I don't know if I can fully process it all, the many and radical differences in my life today versus a week ago, until she's deprogrammed me, for all it matters.

For a few minutes, Amy simply holds me, and we stand together. I can feel her cock hardening in anticipation of dinner, knowing what it will entail. I can feel the impact of knowing I will be under the table, with her cock as part of my meal.

A light knock on the door solicits our attention, and we both look to see Dad standing in my doorframe. “Hey Amy. You need to be under the table within the next two minutes, faggot. Your mother's almost finished making the spaghetti.”

“Well, no harm getting to the table a little early, right?” I reply, smiling up at him, “Thanks, Dad.” I slip free from Amy's embrace and then pause to look up at my father. He looks down at me, and he smiles, stroking my hair out of my face.

“Dad, I'm not allowed to talk while I'm under the table,” I preface, “How do I communicate if I'm not allowed to make a sound?” Dad strokes his jawline with his free hand, stroking my hair with the other.

“Lick our feet if you need us to move them. Kiss our feet to say thank you,” Dad answers, “Tap our feet if you need us to acknowledge you. Do not do that unless the situation is serious and there's something significant you need to share.”

“Yes, Sir,” Dad interrupts me by putting a finger on my lips and shaking his head.

“Dad. You do not have to call me Sir. You are a faggot, but you're still my son, and you're not my property,” Dad tells me firmly, cupping my face with one hand, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb, “So no Sir, no Master, right now, whore.”

“Yes, Dad. Thank you!” I hug him tightly, then quickly extricate and dash to the kitchen, kneeling down at the end nearest to where Mom is working. I crawl underneath the table and settle into a seated kneel, resting my ass on my heels, to wait.

A moment later, I can hear Amy's footsteps, and I see her approve the table, pulling her chair out and sitting. Her cock out, and hard, already, I turn bodily to her and rest my head on her thigh. I'm not allowed to start eating yet, but this is nice.