Registration

When we arrive at the Registry of Therapeutic Hypnosis and Reprogramming, I look up at the large, intimidating building in front of us. I bite my lower lip, and Amy puts a hand on my shoulder. When I look to her, she hands me a manila folder.

“Hold this, faggot,” she commands, “Do not bend, fold, or tear.” I smile and nod, holding the folder carefully, but I tilt my head curiously. She motions toward the building and I look back, fingers tightening on the folder, as I look back to her.

“I spent three hours filling out your paperwork,” she tells me, “Don't worry. This is just a formality of registration. We go in, I register you as my own limited-access cock slave, you get your new permanent ID card, and then we're done, out.”

“Limited-access?” I ask, and Amy nods.

“Family and friends only,” she explains, “As opposed to public-access, which would just be the whole world can use you.” At the explanation, I nod in understanding, appreciative of the fact I was reprogrammed by someone who knows her shit.

“Oh. Right, okay. Thanks, Amy,” I answer, and she smiles, “Do I get to still call you Amy, or do I have to call you Mistress?”

“Of course, faggot. You are still my best friend,” she replies, “I am glad you're appreciative, though. I'd feel bad if you were upset by the reprogramming or were to stop liking me because I even asked you to volunteer for me to reprogram you.”

“No, never,” I shake my head, vehemently, “You did everything right. I can't be mad at you for reprogramming me, Amy. You're my best friend and I love you. Plus, my life's way better, now that I know what I am and I'm actually getting used.”

“No regrets about the cum diet, serving your family?” she asks, and I shake my head, again.

“Mom and Dad have great cocks and always have big loads,” I reply, “and the twins edged themselves this morning while waiting for me to feed from them, to be able to feed me more. I don't think I've ever had such a big breakfast in my life.”

Amy grins at me, clearly relieved, before she heads for the door and opens it, motioning. “Well, come on. Let's go in and get you registered and get you your new cock slave ID, faggot.” I smile and cheerfully follow her inside, folder in hand.

Inside, we have to wait in a short line, but it takes nearly half an hour. Someone who received therapeutic hypnosis didn't have his paperwork in order, and had to call his hypnotist to fax their copies over. The hypnotist sounded rather annoyed.

Amy just rolled her eyes, but when we finally reached the counter, she snapped her fingers and pointed. I quickly set the manila folder down on the counter and the clerk took it. His eyes flicked from Amy to me, then back to Amy once more.

“Name?” he asked.

“Amy Goodheart, Hypnotist,” she replies, and he nods, glancing to me, “Nico Grennan, my best friend, hypnosis subject. Full, permanent mental reprogramming.” The man checks the folder, leafs through the paperwork, finding the waiver.

“Yes, everything seems to be in order,” he says, “Reprogrammed as a cock slave. Specifications?”

“Personal Property, Limited-access,” she replies, and he nods, marking it down.

“Limitations?” he prompts.

“Family and friends, only,” she replies, and the man nods again, making a notation.

“Qualified to vote or drive?” the man asks. Amy nods.

“Yes to both. The reprogramming is very specific to his status as a cock slave,” Amy assures him, and the man nods again.

“Check, and, check,” he replies, “Have a seat. Someone will call your hypnosis subject for his ID photo. It should be about twenty minutes, another ten for the ID to be ready after that.” Amy nods and turns to me, motioning toward the seating.

I go and sit, and she sits beside me. She puts a hand on my thigh, making eye contact with me when I look over at her, in response. Amy smiles and jerks her head. “See? Easy, right?”

“Yea. Thanks, Amy,” I smile.

“You're welcome, faggot,” she replies soothingly, and tugs me to lean against her while we wait. I rest my head against her shoulder and she puts an arm around me. The way she used to, but now with a slightly more possessive edge to her touch.

“Nico Grennan,” a man calls, right around the predicted time. Amy lets go and I get up, crossing over to him and standing where I'm told. Ten minutes later, he comes over to where we're seated, and hands me my brand new, permanent ID card.

It has my face on it, most of the information my driver's license has. Owned Cock Slave is right underneath my name as if it is my formal title. Below that, Limited-access — Family & Friends, and confirmations I'm legal to drive and can vote.

“Looks good. You'll never need to renew it, just update the picture periodically,” Amy tells me, “You'll still need to renew your driver's license, though, every however many years it is.” I nod in understanding, and she leads me back to her car.

Once she pulls out onto the road, she smiles, keeping her eyes ahead, focused on what she's doing. At the first light, Amy looks over at me, beaming happily. “See, told you. Easy! Thanks for not making me order you to go, by the way, faggot.”

“I legally required you with me,” she tells me, “I'd have had to sit with a cop for a while while they tracked you down to confirm you consented to this. It would've been a huge hassle and would've been a blemish on my record as a hypnotist.”

“I know,” I nod, bending down to kiss her thigh, “That's why I did this for you. It's why I volunteered to be brainwashed. This is important to you. I wanted to be your first patient, so you could use me as proof that you're good at what you do.”

Amy quickly looks away, her cheeks colouring, as she quickly wipes at her eyes. She clears her throat after a moment and takes a deep breath. “Sorry, faggot, didn't mean to ruin the moment. The sun got in my eyes, fucker almost blinded me.”

“Thanks,” she says, as the light turns green and she starts driving again, “For having so much faith in me, in my dream.”

“What are best friends for?” I answer. She beams happily as she drives, but she keeps her eyes on the road.

“I love you, too, faggot,” she assures me. I smile happily and lean back against my seat, closing my eyes to enjoy the ride.