“Do you want to come with me?”

Amy asks, “I need to go to the Community Ordinance Board as soon as possible to press for a proper and formal resolution to the situation with Fandorin. Given your altered status, the Board may offer me elevated consideration as your Owner.”

“It would likely be more effective if I were with you,” I acknowledge, and nod, “I will come with you. Thank you for asking. I appreciate how many rights you allow me to keep.” Amy smiles at me, as she continues stroking my cheek affectionately.

“It would, and I will allow you to have as many of your natural human rights as I can, faggot,” Amy says firmly, “Promise. You don't call me Mistress. I prefer my Amy, to Mistress. Mistress makes me uncomfortable.” I nod, smiling at her quietly.

“All right, Amy, my Amy,” I answer, and she offers a warm, airy smirk of amused satisfaction.

“Good boy,” Amy smiles, “Come on, slut. You need to put clothes on for the trip to the Community Ordinance Board, then. You can't walk around the community nude while that asshole is around and unresolved.” I nod, rising and following her.

Amy leads the way to the living room, and the dresser beside the front door that contains my clothes. Even reconditioned as I have been, I am still acclimating to mandated nudism and my dresser being relocated to being beside the front door.

I don't mind, but it is an adjustment. I retrieve an outfit, short denim shorts and a sleeveless crop top, and undergarments, and grab my shoes. Quickly following Amy out of the front door, we walk until she opens the front gate, fingers snapping.

I don't object, I step out onto the sidewalk bare nude and crouch, putting on my clothes one garment at a time. Finally, I tie the laces of my shoes and stand up, and Amy nods. She pauses a moment to look up at the sky, surveying the weather.

“Good boy, faggot. Seems like it'll be a nice, warm night,” she says, before turning toward our distant destination, looking over her shoulder at me. “Heel, slut.” My cheeks warm at the dog command, but when she starts to walk, I still obey her.

One step to her left and a half-step behind, I let her lead, as is right. The Community Ordinance Board was more-or-less in session always. The Community pays them a salary equivalent to 125% of the Cost of Living for California, for their work.

It represented 7 members of the Community who could afford to serve as the gated community's private local legislature. Following Amy, my heart flutters with nervousness. I've lived here all my life but I've never come before the board, ever.

The building itself is unexceptional, not remotely intimidating. It's simply another administrative building in a society in which administrative structures are common. Everyone wants an administration, from gated communities, to countries.

The seven-member panel will be in session, and there may even be orders-of-business waiting. The gated community has a total of around two hundred homes, and with that, a reasonable population. We are, essentially, a suburb of Santa Rosa.

Not the poshest, by far, but well-ordered, neat, and aesthetically attractive in a relative sense. Founded on the premise of democracy and resident quality, not resident wealth, it is an unusual real estate venture. I've truly loved growing up here.

I remember being afraid of this place, when we were kids. Administrative centres in general, but especially one invested a power to boot someone from the community. I don't recall that ever happening in my lifetime, but it was still a possibility!

On our arrival, Amy found us seats near the back. Orders of Business were being handled and discussed, but the room was, actually, borderline empty. On the other hand, one of the speakers was someone known for their long, long speech-giving.

It still ended up being an hour and a half before Amy had a chance to stand. I remained seated, as the exceptionally long-winded Mister Smith finally took a seat. He seems inclined to wait for his order of business to be deliberated and decided.

“In conclusion,” Mister Smith, a literature professor at Stanford, I believe, though not one I've ever had, says, “I believe it would behoove residents of the community to modernise and improve the community's collective foundational utilities.”

“More advanced, environmentally-friendly, reliable, stable electricity, internet connection, plumbing and sanitation, and so forth,” he concludes, a bit after having literally said in conclusion. I really don't think he can physically help himself.

“The Community Ordinance Board will take it under advisement,” Misses Rosazza told him. Once Amy stood up, all eyes in the room turned to her. Not a lot, one other resident other than Smith, albeit from this angle I can't see who exactly it is.

“Now, I don't have a prepared and compelling statement like Professor Smith,” Amy says, “but, the current situation with the younger Mister Fandorin is, as you know, not ideal. However, circumstances surrounding this situation have shifted.”

“You see, his chief victim of choice,” she motioned toward me with one hand without looking at me, “is now, specifically, in addition, my personal property. He is now formally and legally registered as a cock slave — specifically my cock slave.”

“Hold on,” Misses Kieffer raises a hand, “I hope you are prepared to validate the assurance he is now formally and legally a possession of yours. While the Community Ordinance Board obviously respects the law, we cannot just take your word.”

“Of course,” Amy nods, snapping her fingers toward me, “Up, slut. Present your ID to the board for their review. If you're in need of a demonstration, I could ask Professor Smith if he would like my whore to suck his cock for your observation.”

“That,” says Mister Eskola, coughing, as I stand up with a programmed smile and walk forward to the board's wide desk, with my ID. “That should not be necessary. The government-issued ID should be a more than sufficient demonstration.”

“Now, hold on, let's not be hasty,” Professor Smith jokes, “If you require a demonstration, I am comfortable volunteering.” The women of the Community Ordinance Board rolled their eyes. The men simply snickered, but also shook their heads.

I held up my ID to Misses Rosazza, allowing the handsome, middle-aged Italian-American woman to take it. She examined it thoroughly, then passed it down the table until it came back to her. Then she passed it in the other direction, as well.